


The Dragons Will Come Again

by fairydream



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Resurrection, and with the addition of three targaryen boys, angsty as hell, because my girl deserved justice, house targaryen isn't dead, i had to let out my angsty feelings about that horrible canon and this is the result, jon snow starts to know something, mostly canon till that finale because some things are UNACCEPTABLE, no targaryen madness just pain and anger and grief, or lannister for that matter, targlings, this isn't stark friendly, you don't mess with dragons' momma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairydream/pseuds/fairydream
Summary: The Targaryen boys have been left alone, with no one to guide them; they’re close to their fifteenth nameday – almost men, but still boys. A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, but it comforts him that at least, they’re not alone; they have each other, but they are motherless… they’ve been fatherless their whole life, and he’s seen the bond between Daenerys and her sons, there’s been nothing like it.They won’t just sit by and do nothing. Rhaegal's words keep reminding him of it;“You’ve killed the wrong dragon.”In which Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion are Daenerys' sons and they'll show Daenerys isn't the Mother of Dragons for nothing.





	1. The beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> _Upset is an understatement. My girl deserved better, my boy deserved better, the dragons deserved better. Everyone deserved better._
> 
> _Besides the obvious that broke me, I started to realize that Daenerys didn't have anyone left  for the afterwards- no one would remember her good things, no one would avenge her. They truly took everything from her. I will not stand for it._
> 
> _So here I am._
> 
> _Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion are fourteen on this Universe, why? It'll be explained in future chapters. But mostly is canon till up to Episode 6. Daenerys did what she did to King's Landing (and not exactly that), but there's a reason. The dragons, for obvious reasons, are the exactly same though their names change: Balerion (Drogon), Meraxes (Rhaegal) and Vhagar (Viserion)._
> 
> _You have any thoughts, let me know!_ _PS: I wrote this listening to Stay a Thousand Years on repeat, so if you wanna hit it up whilst reading... also, the ART that that song is._

* * *

 

* * *

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

_“Mother? No… no. Mama? What’s going on? What happened to her? Mama no, please, please… don’t leave me. Please. Mama! No… but we won. We won.”_

“I can hear him, too.”

Drogon breaks his gaze from the sky to his brother next to him – he hasn’t even heard him coming, but then again, he’s not sure he can register things around him anymore. All he knows is this pain that keeps ripping him apart from the inside, a pain that won’t stop spreading; he knows it will never stop… nothing will ever cease it. He doesn’t want to – perhaps that will be the only thing that he’ll have left of her.

He looks back at the sky; dark and heavy clouds are gathering there, as if a storm is coming. She was born in one of the worst storms in Westeros’ history; their first night on this place that was supposed to be home, Dragonstone, was passed with a powerful storm, as if it was welcoming her back.

But as he stands on this hill, the one where the dragons used to be, the one where he watched her take flight on Balerion for the last time, he can’t allow himself to think of this place as a home.

 _She_ was home. But they’ve broken his home.

“They’re coming.”

His brother steps ahead of him as all Drogon can do is stare at his hair; his color has always been the one that resembles the Targaryen hair color the most, out of the three. It isn’t silver, but it’s blonde-white; there was always enough resemblance for him to be jealous of his brother’s Targaryen colors, thinking he showed to be a true Targaryen through his looks only; he’s jealous now more than ever, because he’ll always resemble her the most.

But as much as Viserion has the Targaryen look out of the three, Drogon knows there’s no one in the world that has the need for fire and blood in his veins as much as he has – that’s a Targaryen, through and through.

A roar breaks him out of his trance – no, not a roar, he recognizes… a cry. The ground shakes under them, but not by the dragon’s landing, because he’s slow and careful as never; it’s his screeching, loud and painful, that makes everything tremble around them, his black wings moving in still distress.

Drogon holds his breath as his red eyes move towards Balerion’s back, Missandei has always told them that hope is the last thing to lose, and now he can understand why. He knows, yet he _hopes_ to see her sliding down off their dragon.

It’s Rhaegal instead.

He looks terrible; a cut still healing on his forehead, black bags under his green eyes – they’re so dark Drogon almost doesn’t recognize them – royal clothes torn and dirty, but it’s the dried blood on his chest that makes him gulp.

Rhaegal locks eyes with Viserion first, they grow slightly softer for a moment; hadn’t other been the circumstances, his cheeks would have hurt from smiling and his arms wouldn’t have been enough to wrap around their little brother after everything they’ve been through, but soft, green eyes for a moment is all Viserion can get.

He looks at him then; the softness is gone, replaced by pure anguish – Drogon keeps the coldness and firmness in his red eyes, though he feels his chin lightly trembles before he can compose himself in a second, because he understands – it’s not his fault. He’d never blame his brother, but he understands his gaze, because there’s been only one main motto between the three of them;

_I couldn’t protect her._

_Neither could I._

He should have gone with her. Rhaegal should have been with her in that moment. But nothing of it matters now.

Rhaegal turns and walks behind Balerion; Viserion and Drogon step forward, knowing what they should expect… but nothing can prepare them to see Rhaegal coming back to them, with their mother’s dead body in his arms.

“Mother,” Viserion whispers so softly only Drogon can hear him. He rushes towards their brother, and it’s when he reaches out for their mother as well, that Rhaegal’s knees give in and he lets himself fall on the ground, both of them cradling her body in the middle. “Mama… I’m sorry,” he blurts out what the three of them have been thinking ever since that pain started spreading inside them. “I’m so sorry,” he keeps repeating between sobs, leaning on her to hug her as much as he can since Rhaegal won’t let her lay down on the dirty, cold ground.

Drogon doesn’t want to look, he doesn’t want to even approach, Viserion’s back shaking with his sobs is enough for him; he considers in turning around and walking back into the castle; he’s seen dead people, brutally murdered people, beheaded people, burned people. But this…

He can’t.

He won’t.

“She’s cold,” Viserion notices in annoyance. “Why is she so cold?”

_“Mama, I’m cold.”_

_“Come here then, sweetling, I’ll warm you up. See? We can warm each other; fire is in our blood, because –”_

_“– we’re dragons.”_

_“That is right. A dragon should never feel cold. And I promise you, my dear, you’ll never feel cold as long as you have me.”_

“A dragon should never feel cold,” Drogon remembers her words out loud. Even if the lump in his throat is starting to physically ache, he takes a step, and another, and another, until her face comes to his vision – and he stops. She looks like she’s sleeping, but her lips are blue, her skin is paler… and there are two thin lines of dried blood coming out from her mouth and nose. “Mama,” he calls and waits, because if there’s anyone that can make a miracle happen, that’s his mother; she’s brought dragons into the world, when no one else could. But his red eyes slowly water up when he doesn’t find her lovely, purple gaze back. “Mama.” His voice cracks and he frowns upset, because she’s supposed to answer to his call, that’s what she always does – she’s promised she’d always be there for them, that she’d never leave them. “Mama!”

She’s never broken a promise before; not even the one that she made to him the last time he saw her;

_“I want to go with you. I have to.”_

_“No, you have to look after your brother. I can’t trust in anyone but you to be by Viserion’s side. If there’s something I will never be able to bear, is losing one of you. That’s why I’m bringing your brother home – no matter the cost. I promise.”_

Drogon kneels next to Viserion, near her head, and reaches out to touch her forehead. It’s true; she’s cold against the warmth of his skin. A teardrop falls on her cheek, and then there’s another, and another but he doesn’t make a sound, he doesn’t let the sobs rip through his throat, he keeps them in, because he’s a dragon – he has to be strong for his brothers, he has to be strong for her.

He wants to tell her how sorry he is, how he didn’t truly mean their last conversation before she sailed off to King’s Landing; he’ll never forgive himself for the things he said to her, though they were all true, he shouldn’t have. He should have supported her and showed her how much proud he was of her; he shouldn’t have let his dragon temper come out…

_“We should have never come to Westeros; we should have stayed on Essos – that’s where we belong. But you wanted that fucking iron chair, the Iron Throne! Where did that take us?! Viserion has been dying for weeks. Rhaegal is probably going to die too. We lost Vhagar and Meraxes, Ser Jorah and Missandei. And who’s to blame for all that, mother?”_

His mother fell silent at his words, because they were all true; both of them knew it – his hatred and grief took over him, he had enough of losses; Vhagar, Ser Jorah, Meraxes, Missandei, his brothers at the edge of death. His mother was all he had and he’d directed his anger towards her… yet, she tried to reach out for him.

_“Drogon. Look at me. Drogon.”_

He didn’t look; he kept his back to her and his red eyes fixed on the fireplace, on flames in front of him, trying to find peace in them. He felt her hand touching the back of his head and moved away, not wanting any contact with her.

He can still remember her sigh.

_“Your brothers are going to be okay. You will be okay. That’s all that matters to me. I love you, my dragon son.”_

He should have turned around when she placed a kiss on the back of his head. He should have had hugged her. He should have answered her last words to him, but he did nothing.

He let her go thinking he hated her.

“They will all pay,” Drogon tells her between gritted teeth as his hand, shaking with rage, holds on to her head; to her silver, braided hair. “The North and the South. All Westeros will pay.”

“With fire,” Rhaegal keeps on.

“And blood.” Viserion finishes, coldly.

Drogon nods, finding comfort in his brothers wanting fire and blood as much as he; if they think their mother was mad and cruel because of what she did, they’ll find no words for what they’re about to give them in response.

In Essos, the Targaryen princes have been considered part dragon part human, but Drogon knows that he, in particular, has always been considered more dragon than human. He knows it to be true; he wishes he can be all dragon, but his brothers and his mother are his human side – and they’ve ripped the biggest part of that.

_Burn them all._

Let it be more dragon than human.

**I**

“Mother, can you hear me? It’s me, Viserion,” he looks down to his hand holding on to hers; he hasn’t let go of it throughout the whole process of getting her ready for her ceremony. Long gone are the black clothes dried with blood, now her dress is red with hints of black; the Targaryen colors. Her hair is unbraided, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful. “I know you can hear me… as I could hear you all this time. I couldn’t see anything; I couldn’t hear anything but your voice every time you spoke to me. I wanted to wake up… I tried to follow your voice when you’d speak to me, but I couldn’t… there was this… strange force pulling me back every time. But then there was this sudden… sharp, cold pain that pulled me back into the world – and I knew. The pain was stronger than what I felt with Vhagar, much stronger… and that could only mean you.”

He came back the moment she left.

He wondered if this was some kind of punishment by the Gods; returning him his life by taking his mother’s – a life for a life. He wishes he’d never woken up; perhaps he could have found her through the darkness he was in… no matter how lonely he felt there, that would have better than this – than having to see his mama’s pale face and blue lips, than having to feel the coldness of her skin.

Drogon and Rhaegal walk in the cave – the three of them have decided that she’s going to stay here, resting on the large, stone that was hidden in the deeps of the place. They can all feel the magic that it holds inside, probably by the amount of dragonglass that the cave still keeps.

“Is it done?”

Viserion’s golden eyes move up towards his brothers; Rhaegal is holding two lit torches, while Drogon has his own. He gazes down, to check on his mother one last time; she’s clean and beautiful, as she should be. No dried blood on her face or chest, nor dirty on her royal clothes.

Only peace on her face.

“Yes.”

He swallows as he folds her hands together on her stomach and lets go of them, taking a step back towards Rhaegal. He takes a torch from his brother, his eyes momentary staying on the orange and yellow flames dancing around it – he can swear he sees a flash of her face through them for a single second.

Viserion heads to his stone torch as do his two brothers. Three stones torches are going to guard their mother’s body, protect her from the coldness around the air; they don’t know how long it’ll take for her body to start decomposing, but until then, she’s going to remain here.

Warm and safe.

Viserion looks at his brothers; it’s Drogon the one, as always, that takes the lead in nodding his head. The three of them throw the torches into the stone ones, lighting up and warming the place more – his hand reaches out for the flames he just started, his hand tickling when the fire meets his skin, filling him with calmness.

Fire comforts him, because fire is Vhagar, fire is Mother. Last time he felt this calmness through fire, he still had both of them.

He had a dragon. He had a mother. And now, he woke up to neither of them.

The irritation are back in his eyes in form of tears, but he catches Drogon’s gaze – he knows what he’s thinking, _“Stop crying. You’re a man. You’re a dragon.”_ Viserion waits for him to reprimand him, to say it, but his oldest brother only looks down to their mother, letting him get away with it.

He knows why.

 _“Crying is not for the weak,”_ she’d tell them. _“Crying makes you vulnerable, it is true. But if you can’t be vulnerable with your loved ones, then when can you? You can’t be vulnerable with outsiders. You’re brothers. If you can’t show your vulnerability to each other, then it means I have failed as a mother.”_

“We have to go back now,” Drogon says breaking the thin and warm silence around them. “We have to finish what she started.”

Rhaegal doesn’t respond; his green eyes are focused on their mother, losing themselves in whatever memory he’s having, but Viserion arches an eyebrow to his brother across him, knowing fully well what he means.

“And what is that?”

“Kill everyone. Burn Westeros down,” Viserion feels the tension and hatred radiating off of him, sees the water gathering in his red eyes. “I will burn them all.”

“You will not,” his brother’s eyes shoot up to him, more anger than sorrow filling them. “That’s not what Mother would want. You know it.”

“Haven’t you heard, brother?” Drogon blurs out exasperated. “She gave fire and blood to King’s Landing. And I intend to carry on with that.”

“She didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yes, she did. She –”

“She did not,” Viserion declares firmly and clearly, giving room for no arguments, no matter the death-glare his brother is giving him. “She was alone. A Targaryen alone in the world… is a terrible thing.”

_“Drogon says I shouldn’t be so kind, mama. Because I’m a dragon. If I’m too kind, I’ll be taken as a fool, he says.”_

_“There’s no foolishness in being kind. Kindness is your strength, my little one. Your brother told you that because he wants to protect you; sometimes, your strength can become your weakness. Never let anyone take your kindness as weakness. That’s your strength.”_

_“… and what is your strength, mama?”_

_“Look around you, and you’ll find it.”_

Viserion looked around then; there was no one in the tent but them, and Drogon and Rhaegal playing swordfight outside it. He smiled and glanced up to his mama, finding one alike on her face to see he figured it out.

_“It’s us. We are your strength.”_

“She lost her strength,” Viserion swallows and continues on. “But why? Why did she feel alone? She thought she was losing Rhaegal. She thought she was losing me…” his golden eyes fire up to red ones, a new coldness settling its roots. “But she had you. Did she not?”

Drogon can’t hold his gaze; he stares down at her and parts his lips but closes them right after. It’s then that Rhaegal tears his eyes from her to look at their brother as well, waiting for him to answer. Something isn’t right.

The black haired boy lets out a sigh and fully opens his mouth this time, “I blamed her. I was so… angry for what happened. Vhagar, Ser Jorah, Meraxes, Missandei, you weren’t waking up, Rhaegal was taken… all in this god damn place. I blamed her for it. And yet, she kissed me goodbye… and… told me she loved me but I…”

His voice loses its sound, and Viserion doesn’t want to push it. He can’t blame his brother; he would have felt the same thing. He didn’t have time to go through all those losses because he wasn’t there, one loss was enough for him to collapse, but he understands. He’s not sure he would have told that directly to his mother, but he can’t take it out on Drogon; he has enough of guilt himself for doing that… and for doing nothing when his mother said her goodbyes to him.

He’ll regret it his whole life… as he will for not being able to wake up earlier, to see her purple eyes one last time.

“Westeros did this to her,” Drogon regains strength in his voice and meets his golden gaze again. “They have to suffer for it. All of them.”

“They will. The ones that wronged her, the ones that played her, and the ones that betrayed her… they all will pay. But not the innocents. We have to show them who she really was. We are her true legacy.”

“Aye,” Rhaegal speaks up for first time, breaking his trance from his mother to look at both his brothers. “We will answer injustice with justice.”

Flames reflect on Drogon’s red eyes as he looks down to their mother. “Starting with the Lannisters and the Starks.”

Viserion doesn’t argue with that. His mother was always right; kindness is his strength, but so was she. She was the strongest person he knew and they took her from him.

His mother may be gone, but so will be everyone that led to it.

**II**

_“Mother?”_

Rhaegal’s eyes snap open. His chest is heavy with desperation and panic, like every time he dreams of that moment – her lifeless purple eyes will always haunt him, the blood tainting his hands as he helpless clings to her, his sobs mixed with Balerion’s shrieking cries.

He fights off the lump forming in his throat and gets up from the ground, realizing he has, once again, fallen asleep inside the cave, with his mother’s dead body just feet away.

She looks like an eternal angel inside the coffin made with part of dragonglass that they had built up for her. Viserion believes that its magic will preserve her; Rhaegal knows they should have a proper burial for her, but they… can’t.

They’re not ready to truly let her go, as selfish as it is.

It’s horrible enough that they know they’ll never hear her voice again, they’ll never meet her shinning purple eyes, they’ll never see her wide smile again, the one that it was only reserved for them – the one she’s given to Jon a few times, even.

How could he be so stupid? He should have looked for her the moment it was all over. He should have had someone else taking care of the Lannisters; the Dothraki, the Unsullied, anyone but him. He thought he was going to make his mother happy because of it – now he knows nothing would have made her happier than seeing him, alive and well, than to have him back in her arms and cuddle him like he was still a little boy, even if he was almost taller than her by now;

_“You were her last words. You and your brothers. Her sons.”_

She died alone. Betrayed. Unprotected. Cold.

Rhaegal doesn’t believe he has any left tears to pour out, but still, his green eyes burn with them as he rests a hand against the coffin. He would have hugged her so hard her bones were going to hurt afterwards, because that’s what he wanted to do ever since he was taken from her. But he never showed it to their enemies, he’s been strong and proud, he wanted to tell her that. He wanted her to know that no matter what they did to him, he kept his ground – because that’s what Targaryens do.

A dragon doesn’t bend. And he never did.

Still, he failed her. He can’t blame Drogon for lashing out on her, because Rhaegal knows he failed her as much as his brother did. He should have been there with her, to protect her, to be by her side.

_“I want to be a great warrior when I’m a man, mama. So I can protect you.”_

_“Why, thank you, sweetling. I’m sure you will be the greatest warrior Essos and Westeros have never seen.”_

_“Aye! I’ll be your knight in armor. No one will ever hurt you, mama, because first, they’ll have to go through me! And I will fight them all!”_

_“What a brave little dragon you are. You’ll be my dragon in armor. I’ll always be safe with you by my side.”_

Had he gotten there earlier…

But what is done is done. No one can change the past.

But they will change their future. They won’t be just orphans. His mother was the Mother of Dragons, but them? They _are_ the dragons.

_Like their dragons the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men._

Dragons have no mercy. No kindness to those that have wronged them. Anyone that has had anything to do with this path will suffer the consequences. They will know what a dragon’s wrath is like.

“I promise you, mama,” Rhaegal manages to whisper through the warm air around. “I’ll still be your dragon in armor.”

He stares at her face for long seconds; there’s still a spark inside him telling him that maybe, she’ll open her eyes if he wishes hard enough, if they try all the magic in the world, but days have passed and nothing ever happens. They may have a special bond with fire, with their dragons, but they’re not her.

She was the one truly magical.

Rhaegal sighs and looks up, ready to turn around, but something shinning in the deeps of the cave catches his sight. He frowns at it because he knows what it is; the drawings that Jon made his mother see, to try to convince her about the White Walkers. He’s seen them before in the many days that he’s visited his mother here, but he’s tried hard to ignore them.

This time, though. It clicks something inside of him.

Rhaegal walks towards it and stares at them, at the white figures painted there; that’s where it all started. But he’s not mad at them; he’s mad at the man that convinced his mother into fighting them – that’s where she started to lose everything.

He loses it; a scream rips through his throat as he hits the wall, once, twice – over and over again till his knuckles ache and blood is on them, but he doesn’t stop; he takes a rock and punches the white figures painted with blood now. His mother hasn’t been the only one betrayed; he trusted him, he trusted he’d protect her; he doesn’t care how much he loved her, how much it pains him all this… nothing of this would have happened if his mother never met Jon Snow.

The sound of something cracking makes him stop. A hole in the wall has opened up as he looks down to his hand holding the rock, all bloody.

“Rhaegal,” Viserion’s voice sounds behind him. “You broke it.”

“Dragon’s strength,” Drogon echoes, walking forward to his brother. He bends down next to him and examines his hand with his eyes; Rhaegal tries to steady his fast breath as he watches his brother eyeing the hole he’d just made. “We’ll take off all these paintings once I’m back.”

“Once _we_ are back,” Viserion corrects him.

Rhaegal sees Drogon’s scowl appearing between his dark eyebrows as he gets up to face their brother, letting him room to see his recent creation; there’s nothing but darkness in that hole, though there’s a force luring him in… he frowns, but he can’t help the movement of his arm going inside it.

“We’ve discussed this, brother,” Drogon sighs with no patience. “I am going there alone. You and Rhaegal stay here with Mother.”

“Mother is not going anywhere,” Viserion spits out, cold and truthful, as much as it pains him. “And I want to look at her enemies’ faces before they die. I want to see the light going out from the man that did this to our mother. I am not going to sit here and wait for you to take the revenge that is ours as well.”

“Brothers…” Rhaegal mutters, in such awe that he’s sure the words barely leave his mouth.

“This isn’t just about the revenge,” Drogon explains to Viserion, deaf to Rhaegal’s words. “You are not ready for battle and Rhaegal has had enough of –”

“That’s not up for you to decide,” Viserion cuts him off, growing frustrated by his brother’s stubbornness. “Our mother always decided who went to battle or not, but she’s not here. Not anymore. She went to King’s Landing alone, and she came back dead. You are not going alone there, Drogon.”

“Brothers,” Rhaegal raises his voice, gaining the attention from the other two boys. He hears their gasps before he can even look up and see the bewilderment taking over their faces, their eyes growing wild to what he’s holding with both hands. “I think there’s something else we have to discuss.”

Viserion swallows and takes a step forward, almost afraid of getting closer. “Are those…”

“Yes,” Drogon blinks out of the shock. “Dragon’s eggs.”

Rhaegal’s green eyes move from them to the dragon eggs he’s just pulled out from the hole; they’re three – three unhatched dragon’s eggs. Dark red, pale blue and light bronze. He looks up, but his gaze goes beyond his brothers; towards his mother lying down inside on the large stone.

_Mother of dragons._

**III**

The dragonpit.

Out of all the places, out of all the locations, they’ve chosen the dragonpit to have this… meeting. This was the home of dragons; it feels like an insult to her memory to have them all reunited speaking of royal matters as if she shouldn’t be the one commanding all of this.

He doesn’t know if they did it on purpose, but they had him sitting in a corner where he can do nothing but stare at the spot where he told her she wasn’t like everyone else. She’s gifted him a smile back then, her purple eyes sparkling with joy at his words – sparkling like right before her last moments.

_“We do it, together. We break the wheel together.”_

Jon closes his eyes, trying to erase the memory from his mind, knowing it’s in vain. Nothing will ever make it go away, her purple eyes betrayed and filling with sudden panic, her hands reaching out for him in desperation, the blood spilling through his hands as he held her. It’ll go with him anywhere he goes.

“Jon,” Arya calls him softly, making him blink and come back to this awful reality. He looks at her annoyed for that, and she stares into his dark pools enough to understand what’s crossing his mind – what has been crossing his mind for days. “Focus.”

He doesn’t listen to her as he looks back at that same spot, wishing for this to be over already. All the important Lords have gathered here to discuss what should be their next move, since the kingdoms have been left with no King or Queen – he’s sitting between his sisters as he hears them speaking of whatever they should do with Cersei and Jaime Lannister, locked up in the dungeons.

This is all useless. He knows it, but he can’t tell it. This is the first time he’s been dishonest with his family, but he owns it to _her_.

_“My… my s – sons…”_

It doesn’t matter what they think they have to do with Cersei, Jaime or Tyrion Lannister. It doesn’t matter who they think should be the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. All of that has been already settled – and not by them, but by the Targaryen princes.

He’s told everyone that Rhaegal took flight on Balerion to never come back. He half wants it to be true, but he knows it’s not – but he owns it to their mother. Her last words have been for her sons; he owns her their safety, their time to mourn her in peace.

 It’s been a week. He’s had plenty of time to tell these same people surrounding him right now that they should prepare for the dragons’ wrath, but he doesn’t find it in him to care.

Something died with him the moment Daenerys’ eyes closed forever.

She’s gone. And the look on Rhaegal’s face said it all – he hates him with all his being. He failed his mother, he failed him. Nothing else matters now; he wishes he can just go live the rest of his days beyond the Wall, but he’s decided to stay, because he can’t help the little hope residing in him.

The Targaryen boys have been left alone, with no one to guide them; they’re close to their fifteenth nameday – almost men, but still boys. _A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,_ but it comforts him that at least, they’re not alone; they have each other, but they are motherless… they’ve been fatherless their whole life, and he’s seen the bond between Daenerys and her sons, there’s been nothing like it.

They won’t just sit by and do nothing. Rhaegal's words keep reminding him of it;

_“You’ve killed the wrong dragon.”_

Jon watches as Grey Worm approaches with the three Lannisters, all chained up; Tyrion, Jaime, Cersei. He reaches out for Longclaw by instinct, but keeps his hand there; the ice in his veins transform into fire to the sight of them, he can’t stand it anymore – his fingers clings to Longclaw, and when he’s about to pull it out, a hand is placed above his… and he’s met with his little sister’s eyes.

“Not now.”

Daenerys’ face flashes through his vision, smiling and hopeful, betrayed and scared of him – he’s let himself be poisoned against her and he will never forgive himself for that, among many things. He can never forgive himself that the last image she has of him is with a knife on his hand, a knife that was meant for her heart.

Rhaegal’s face to see his mother in his arms, lifeless; his heartbreaking sobs echoing through the Great Hall as he kept shaking her body in denial, his green eyes darkening when they looked up at him – Jon has to swallow down and take a breath to maintain the composure, his fingers slowly letting go of Longclaw.

It’s not his place.

“The Targaryens are gone,” Sansa speaks up, all regal and calm, but Jon’s jaw tightens to see the satisfaction on her features to be able to say that. “We must choose what we are going to do with –”

Yara Greyjoy moves on her seat. “Do you really think the Targaryen princes will do nothing about their mother’s death? You are no in position here to demand anything. We shall wait for them to return. Drogon Targaryen should be crowned King; he’s the oldest of them. He shall see what happens to the Lannisters.”

“Drogon?” Sansa repeats, almost disgusted by it. “They say he’s more beast than boy. We will all be doomed if he’s King. They are just boys. They don’t have a Hand, they don’t know anything about politics… and they are gone. If they wanted revenge, they would have already burned Westeros down.”

Jon glares at her, because that’s not true. Drogon will want that, but Rhaegal will never let him do it – they are both good boys, alone… they’ll be driven by anger and grief, much as Dany has been in the past days. He wishes he can find them and talk to them, but he knows they hate him.

Drogon probably wants his head. Rhaegal will never want to see his face again. And Viserion… sweet and smart Viserion… one day he’ll wake up to no dragon, and no mother.

“It is true,” Bran tells in his monotonous voice, getting all the eyes around them. “I can’t find them anywhere on Westeros, any of them. Last thing I saw of them was that Viserion woke up. They must have traveled back to Essos with their dragon.”

Jon frowns utterly confused by this information. It is true Bran can see everything, but that’s not possible… with the little he knew of Viserion, even he would never stand down about his mother’s assassination. Something is wrong.

“Oh but they will return,” Tyrion comments, taking a step forward but being stopped by one glare from Grey Worm. “If they’re not stopped, they will return and burn everything on their way. Nothing will matter to them.”

Cersei laughs, fully and truthful, with a shake of her head. “Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flips a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. Madness or greatness? We know how that turned out for one.”

“A dragon and three hateful Targaryens?” Jaime Lannister dares to continue on with a heavy sigh, as if he was truly worried about all this. “The world will burn before them.”

Jon rises from his seat; he’s had enough. He will not sit by and listen to implicit threats to the only things that are left of Daenerys on this shitty world.

“We are here to discuss the fates of the prisoners, not the fates of three young boys that they’ve just lost their mother,” he declares firm and stern, eyeing all the people around. Yara Greyjoy, The prince of Dorne, Robyn Arryn, Ser Davos, Ser Brienne, Lord Tully, Sam, Gendry Baratheon, his sisters and brother, the Lannisters. “The crown is theirs by law. We have to wait for them to return. It’s not our place to convict their mother’s enemies.”

“We can’t wait for them to return,” Sansa fights him back, rising her voice and starting to grow frustrated with him, he knows it. “If any of them is meant to rule us, it’ll be worse than Joffrey… because at least, he didn’t have a dragon. We can’t let that happen.”

“That is treason,” Grey Worm states, numb and clear. “The princes will hear about this.”

Sansa shakes her head from side to side, slowly and surely. “Your princes are never coming back.”

Jon opens his mouth to yell at her, in front of everyone, he doesn’t give a fuck anymore, to stop saying nonsense. But he doesn’t get to, because his voice dies in the loud roar that makes the ground tremble under them. Everyone stands up from their seats, but Jon keeps his eyes on the sky, watching as Balerion appears in sight, flying around the dragonpit, his black wings shadowing the sun so much, day it turns into night for a moment.

He flies lower and closer to them, and what he does next Jon doesn’t expect; the Northerners that are waiting for them outside the dragonpit try to enter the place to fight for them, but Balerion breathes fire on the entrance, preventing them from getting in and even burning some of them that weren’t fast enough.

“We have to get out of here!” Arya screams first, ready to take Bran’s wheelchair, but Jon doesn’t move – he can only watch as the black beast keeps rounding the place. “Jon!”

Balerion breathes fire again, this time all around the dragonpit; the hot flames catching on the stones and making a big circle of fire, burning every possible way out. There’s no hope in escaping.

They’re trapped.

This has to be Drogon.

Balerion lands in front of them, where the entrance is supposed to be, in the middle of his own fire – the same fire that has turned people into ashes. He moves his wings up and roars to them as Jon’s chest starts to fill with fear, not for him – he will deserve anything that Drogon thinks he does, but for his sisters and brother. He glances over his back to see the horrified look on everyone’s faces, except for Grey Worm, that has almost an smile quirking up his lips, with his spear ready to insert in any Lannister that dares to try to escape; even if there’s no way to.

Brienne, Arya and Davos have already pulled out their swords but he cannot bring himself to. Jon looks back to the black, giant dragon, and is not surprised to see as Drogon slips down from its back, landing on the fire, the orange flames being quick to start catching on his clothes.

He takes one step and walks out of the fire, giving one glance down to his clothes for the small flames to cease on them.

But Jon narrows his eyes and takes a step forward when he sees two other figures sliding down from the dragon’s back. Rhaegal and Viserion. Just like their brother, they land on the line of the fire, but step out of it, the flames on their clothes ceasing with one tap of their hands.

The three Targaryen boys head towards them as their dragon roars in the back; Drogon is ahead of them, with Rhaegal and Viserion by their sides; the bronze haired boy has his sword in hand whilst the blonde boy has his sword secured in his waist but with a bow ready to use on his hands.

Jon doesn’t move, doesn’t blink and doesn’t breathe as the three brothers stand in front of him, no more than three feet away. There’s only hate in their gazes as they look around them, but when their eyes focus on him; there’s more. There’s pain and betrayal.

Long gone are the golden eyes shining with kindness. Long gone are the green eyes sparkling with mercy. Long gone are the red eyes lighting with bravery.

Gone with their mother.

Darkness is all their eyes reflect now.

“You have started the meeting without us,” Drogon says, eyes scanning the place around before a dark eyebrow arches up to his way in such a Daenerys’ way that Jon has to gulp. “How unfortunate.”


	2. Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I broke my record with long chapters with this one... gosh you have no idea how difficult it was for me to choose the few scenes that I wrote, if it were up to me I would have written so many more, but I didn't want to tire you all with its length and it would have taken me forever to update again._
> 
> _So. This chapter is basically in the past, a small journey through the canon that we already know but with the addition of the boys which changes mostly /one/ character's personality in particular, though not everything is exactly like in canon getting to the end. The past doesn't end here, it'll still be shown in next chapters from here and there, but I'm eager to get back to the present as well._
> 
> _Thank you for all your response! I'm so happy it was so welcomed ♥_
> 
>  
> 
> **_WARNING:_ ** _mentions of rape and graphic description of blood._

* * *

* * *

**EVERYTHING**

_Drogon. Rhaegal. Viserion._

Daenerys snaps her eyes open. Her first instinct is to look at her side; it’s a new instinct that has rooted inside her so fast she already can’t imagine herself without it, a new instinct that will have specific names tangled on it forever now.

Her children. Her sons. Her new reasons to live.

There they lay, next to her, in their little casket, covered by a thin blanket. They’re sound asleep, but Dany has to check – even if she’s done it a thousand times before. She sits straight, her hands trembling in the process with the little strength she has left and one arm reaches out to look at the inside of the casket.

She moves the blanket a bit, a common yet always new relief flooding through her to see their small and soft chests rising and falling with each of their breaths. A soft wail coming from a cage behind the casket makes her purple eyes look up to it, seeing the tiny colored tails escaping through the bars and the three little dragons curled up with each other inside it.

It still amazes her how much her life has been turned upside down. In one single night, she stepped into fire with nothing else but her dreams and hopes in her mind, and came out from it with them in her hands.

It’s taken her days to realize that what she thought to be a punishment sent by the Gods for her naivety and foolishness was actually a gift – a second chance. She put her trust on a witch to cure her husband’s wound and the witch betrayed her, and that betrayal cost her the only family she had left. Her husband and her child.

Or so she thought.

Everyone was fascinated by how huge her belly was; they all truly believed the Stallion Who Mounts the World was inside her womb, growing with fierce each day. Daenerys had no doubts that her son was the one to fulfill that destiny, but she also knew that her baby wasn’t alone there. She believed there was one more; twins. A girl, perhaps.

But she never told anyone. Not even her handmaidens. No one ever suspected there could be two, and she didn’t know whether they could do to her if they knew there was another and possibly a girl. Ser Jorah was the only one that realized that the way her belly grew wasn’t normal for a single child, but he never spoke of a word more than to tell her;

_“It’s not uncommon for Targaryens to have twins. Have you heard of that, khaleesi?”_

_“I have.”_

In the end, everyone was wrong. She wasn’t carrying one, or two, but four. And only one of them paid the price for their father’s life.

When she woke up after giving birth and she asked for her son, Ser Jorah told her the boy did not survive and there was no sign of another. But her stomach was still swollen and strong and her heart was fighting against the reality; she _knew_ there was still hope for the child inside. It wasn’t dead. It couldn’t be.

So Daenerys did what her heart told her to. She walked into the burned funeral pyre and not much after the witch’s screams had deceased, she was about to have some of her own – not because of the fire, but for the pain that was ripping her from the inside, feeling as if her bones were breaking open. But the screams didn’t reach her throat; instead she embraced the fire soothing her and canalized all its strength through her whole body to push her remaining child into the world.

As soon as a tiny, small body fell on her hands, there was a loud _crack_ that sounded through the place. But all Daenerys could focus was on the babe on her hands; it was a boy, with his head filled with black hair and with his eyes already opened and staring back at her in silence – red eyes, red as the blood that tainted her hands and his small form. It was only then that Dany saw the movement of a little thing heading towards her, crawling on top of her legs to make its way up to her arms and shoulder.

A baby dragon with black scales and smoldering red pits as eyes.

She didn’t have time to contemplate her new children because the same pain was back and alive. Daenerys realized she’d been mistaken; there weren’t only two, but more.

With each tiny body that fell on her hands, there was a loud _crack_ filling the burned place. With the babe that had bronze hair and green eyes, came the green scaled dragon crawling on her arm to be closer to them. And with the babe that had clear blonde hair all over his head and golden eyes, came the dragon filled with cream scales that stayed on her leg, near the last babe.

Through fire and blood, her children – all of them – were born. There’s nothing Daenerys can take more proud of than that; Drogo may have taken Rhaego along with him, but she’s birthed to three healthy Targaryen boys and three fierce dragons.

Drogon. Rhaegal. Viserion.

Balerion. Meraxes. Vhagar.

Her house can’t be more alive than now. Three Targaryen boys. Three dragons. The dragon has three heads, and Daenerys knows her children are living proof of that.

Nothing bad will ever happen to them. No one will ever hurt them as long as she lives. She’s promised herself that… that promise is the thing that keeps her going.

It’s been a week since her children’s birth and a week since they’ve started marching on to find some shelter. But there isn’t much of her khalasar; children and women are falling like flies for the lack of food there is in the desert they’re immersed in. It angers her every time; the hopeless feeling of being unable to help them. She’s supposed to protect them, to make their enemies die screaming – nothing of this looks like it.

But anger isn’t her biggest sentiment. Fear is. She fears to fall asleep and wake up to see that one of her babies’ chest isn’t moving. She fears to fall asleep and never wake up, and leave her children alone.

She tries not to sleep, eyes always placed on the three sleeping babies and dragons, and lips moving to repeat their names over and over again, to keep her distracted from the negative thoughts. She’s sent her bloodriders to search for any food, any land, but none of them has returned yet.

Viserion, the smallest of them, lets out a small whimper, tiny fists opening up and starting to move in distress. Dany takes him out of the casket before he can wake his brothers; he might be the smallest, but the three of them are still too tiny, she’s seen what newborns look like and her boys are smaller. Ser Joran told her it’s normal for twins and therefore triplets to be born early, that she doesn’t have to worry.

But he doesn’t understand. A mother never stops worrying, much less with starvation shadowing her people and her babies.

Daenerys cradles Viserion on her weak arms and guides him to her left breast – he’s fast to hook in to it and start soothing his hunger. A soft screech is heard from the cage; Vhagar is up and awake, watching them through the bars with his eyes that look like two pools of melted gold.

She smiles lightly and looks down to the babe in her arms, finding similar eyes staring back at her, though Viserion’s golden eyes are filled with peace; it gives her strength. Every time she looks at her sons’ eyes, new strength invades her. She has to keep going, she can’t give up, if she can’t find it in her people, if she can’t find it in herself, she’ll find them in them.

She has to live for them – she _will_ live for them. They won’t grow up the way she did; motherless. They will know what a mother’s love is like and hopefully they’ll never have to see what a mother’s wrath is like, but she won’t ever hesitate, not when it’s about them.

As Viserion is finished and Daenerys places him back next to his brothers, she takes her time watching them. She loved her brother, she loved her husband, she loved her unborn child, she loves her people, she loves her dragons, but nothing of it is compared to the love that swells in her chest for these three little boys.

They’ll know nothing but love from her. And anyone that dares to hurt a single hair of their heads will know nothing but fire and blood from her.

**I**

The Mother of Dragons, they call her.

Daenerys knows everyone refers to Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar when they honor her with such title, and she knows it to be true; the dragons are her children – she’s hatched her eggs, she breastfeed them, she took care of them at all times as much as she did with her babies, but she’s starting to believe she is the Mother of Dragons in a whole different way.

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion grow _fast_ , most surely faster than any other child. Almost two years have passed since their birth, their second nameday is next, but they look older than that – they’ve grown at a considerably quick speed.

They were small babies at first, but that changed quickly. Halfway through the year, they were up on their feet and babbling words. Rhaegal was the first one that gifted her with the title she adores the most; _Mama._ Drogon was the first one to stand up on his chubby legs and take his first steps, when in truth, that should have waited more. And Viserion was the one to grow the first teeth only a month after being born.

For their first nameday, they already knew how to speak sentences, though it was always difficult to understand them, they ran without difficulties and they jumped everywhere from here and there, and they were much taller than expected to be.

Now that their second nameday is coming, their height matches the other four years old’s, much up her knees; they speak clearly, know how to count to ten and Viserion is even starting to understand some letters.

They are not like the other children.

And there’s their connection with their dragons. When Irri was still among them, she commented to her the similarities that her boys and her dragons shared. None of them has taken after Drogo; perhaps Drogon with the black hair, but nothing more than that. Not the skin, not the eyes, nothing. But they haven’t taken after her Targaryen side either; none of them has the silver hair or purple eyes characteristic of her house.

Ser Jorah believes that they do take after her house, after all. He claims they have her smile and shape of eyes, that the colors of their eyes have already passed through Targaryens before, that Viserion’s blonde-cream hair is not uncommon on her blood and that Rhaegal must be the perfect mix between Drogo’s dark hair and her light one.

Still, Daenerys believes something different. It’s too hard to ignore that Drogon and Balerion, Viserion and Vhagar share the same color of eyes and hair or scales, if you will. Though it’s not the same with Rhaegal and Meraxes, the resemblance is there; Meraxes’s scales are the same color of Rhaegal’s green eyes and his eyes matches the child’s bronze hair.

They grow faster than other children, much like the dragons. They share the colors with the dragons. Their bodies are always warm, like hers, but they have a strong connection with fire, perhaps much more than she has; once Drogon threw a tantrum to Irri and Doreah and the flames from the fireplace erupted, catching the objects and clothes that were just above. Anything with fire that is near them grows whenever they’re angry.

Daenerys looks up into the sky and smiles to see Meraxes, Vhagar and Balerion flying above them with the dark sky behind – they’ve reached the size of a small dog, soon they’ll be so large her children will be able to ride them. They’re eager to do that just about now, but they understand they might hurt their backs if they do.

“Mama?” Rhaegal calls behind her. Dany turns around and walks further into the tent and towards the boys’ bed. “Who is coming tomorrow?”

“A slave master from Yunkai,” she answers simply as she sits on the edge of their bed; they’re grown but not enough to want to sleep in separate beds. Her bed is a few feet away, unmade, but not for her; she still has to discuss last things with Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, but she knows sometimes one of them – Viserion, mostly – wakes up in the middle of the night to sneak in her bed. “I am going to give him the chance of surrender.”

Drogon frowns, shifting between his brothers. It seems this night it’s his turn to be in the middle. “Why?”

“You always have to give your enemies the chance of surrender first. If they don’t take it, then that’s another problem.”

“But why is he enemy?” Viserion asks this time, genuinely curious. “Is he bad?”

“He is. He owns people,” the three of them scowls at that and she takes pride in knowing they already can see that is wrong. “And the world I will build for you will have only free people. No one deserves to be a slave. No one has the right to take someone’s freedom.”

Her stomach grows sick to this day to remember Astapor – to remember the Unsullied’s training; newborns taken from their mother’s arms to be killed in front of them. She has to swallow every time the thought crosses her mind, her hand always reaching out for any of her boys, this time for Rhaegal’s hair, pushing aside a lock of bronze hair.

These poor mothers. Daenerys doesn’t even want to imagine the pain of having your child taken from you to be murdered in front of your eyes. It brings chills to her spine.

“You will be there with me to greet that master. So will be the dragons. But you have to be silent and just watch, do you remember?”

Rhaegal nods firmly. “And if he doesn’t surrender, we can fight him. I know how to use a sword now, mama.”

Daenerys titles her head, a bit concerned about that. She’s not a fool, she knows her boys will grow up into great warriors, the Dothraki and Targaryen blood floods through their veins, that day will come, sooner or later, but she doesn’t want them around sharp things just yet. They’re too young.

“You do?”

“Ser Barristan gave us wooden swords! I beat Drogon today!”

Drogon scoffs. “I let you.”

Rhaegal frowns offended by that. “You did not.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daenerys intervenes before the fight grows. Rhaegal and Drogon have both strong tempers and are always the first ones to get into arguments with each other. “There will be no need to fight because I have everything under control, sweetlings. I just want you there because –”

“ –we are the princes,” Viserion finishes for her all proudly. “And you are the Queen.”

“That is right,” she smiles at him and tightens the covers around them. “Now you have to sleep.”

Drogon groans. “But can we wait until the dragons come?”

“They’ll come when you’re already asleep. Goodnight, my little dragons.”

Daenerys kisses each of their foreheads and blows out the candle next to their bed. She stands up and walks towards the tent’s entrance, but right before she gets out, Rhaegal’s voice stops her;

“If you don’t have everything under control, we will always fight for you, mama. We promise.”

“And the dragons,” Drogon adds. “Because you are their mama too.”

Daenerys can’t help but smile at their determination, to know that even in their short years, they’re already fiercely protective of her. When her dragons and her sons are grown, her enemies will think twice about hurting their family – she doesn’t want to imagine them in that position, because she’ll always be there to protect them first but if she were her enemies’ advisors, she’d suggest them to move to the other side of the world and never come back.

She knows, by experience, that there’s nothing more dangerous than awakening the dragon inside a Targaryen.

“Let’s hope it never comes to that, my sons.”

**II**

“Mama, that’s not fair!”

“Why did you do that?!”

Daenerys takes a deep breath and walks away from the balcony and into her chambers, ready to face what she knew would come. She doesn’t have a choice on this; she can only try to repair the savage that has been done – the little girl’s burned bones at her feet still haunts her mind and she’s sure it’ll go on in her dreams.

Rhaegal and Viserion are across the table, wooden swords in hand. They’ve been training all day with Ser Barristan, the three of them; she’s taken that chance to lure Meraxes and Vhagar into the dungeons and chain them up, as much as her heart broke in the process.

She can still hear their loud crying, calling out for her as she walked away.

“Meraxes and Vhagar did nothing wrong!” Rhaegal raises his voice. He looks a bit older with his Targaryen armor on; a child of ten or so when he just looks like an eight year old boy, though he should look four. His bronze hair is messy, his cheeks reddened, whether by the exercise or the anger, she can’t tell – but Daenerys swallows to see the tears sparkling in his green eyes, as much as Viserion’s golden ones. “You can’t chain them up! They didn’t burn anyone, they didn’t eat anyone!”

“I can’t take my chances, my dear,” she tries to explain them, knowing it’ll be in vain. Her boys grow fast, but they’re still boys – they won’t understand the consequences that having dragons carries. She has a strong bond with her dragon children, but the boys have a much stronger one. If she can feel Meraxes and Vhagar’s loneliness, she can’t imagine what it’s like for Rhaegal and Viserion. “I can’t have another child’s bones at my feet –”

“You will, because you chained the wrong dragons,” Rhaegal spits out hateful. She’s never seen him this angry. “You have to look for Balerion and chain him up. Meraxes and Vhagar don’t deserve it!”

“As soon as Balerion comes back, I will try to get him to –”

“He won’t come back now,” Viserion answers instead, anger and sadness flashing in his golden eyes as a few tears roll on his still chubby cheeks. Daenerys steps closer to them; she wants to wrap them in her arms and kiss their tears off, but they step back, glaring at her feet. “He knows that if he comes back, you’ll chain him too. He’s not stupid.”

“I can try,” the three of them look at the chamber’s entrance to see Drogon walking in. He gives one glance to his brothers and focus on her, he seems ashamed but angry all the same. “Balerion didn’t mean to do that. I can try to control him and –”

“You can’t,” Dany interrupts him. Balerion is the wildest, much as Drogon is, but the difference is he is a real dragon. _Dragons can’t be themed, not even by their mother,_ Ser Jorah’s words resonate through her head, but she shakes them off. “I am beyond heartbroken for what I did,” she talks to her other two sons now. “They are my children. I don’t want this for them. But I have to think of our people and do what’s best for them. Even if it means disciplining my children.” She takes a look to the three of them, sees the determination across their faces, and she doesn’t have to imagine what is going through their minds. “All of them.”

Rhaegal glares at her for long seconds. “We want to see them.”

“No.”

Viserion frowns. “Why not?”

“You’ll unchain them. I know you will. If you want to see them, I’ll be present.”

Viserion gives her a disapproved look but Rhaegal looks like he’s about to explode; Daenerys side eyes the fire in the torches around the place, noticing the flames are growing wilder.

“This is your fault,” she snaps her focus back at Rhaegal and sees he’s talking to Drogon. “You should control your dragon. Now mine is chained up because of yours!”

“I didn’t want this, brother,” Drogon replies back through his death-glare. “I’m sorry but –”

“You’re not sorry! You’re the one that should be chained!”

Rhaegal throws the wooden sword away and instead throws himself to Drogon, both of them clashing onto the ground and starting to roll on it. This isn’t the first time the brothers fight each other, but it’s the first time they do with real anger between them – Daenerys forgets about Queen’s manners and gets in the entangled fight, trying her best to separate them, but all she gets is slaps and scratches on her hands on the attempt.

Viserion manages to take hold of Drogon’s arm and pull him back as she takes Rhaegal’s body between her arms and holds him with strength.

“Don’t touch me!” the bronze haired boy squirms between her arms, getting rid of her grip. “You think you’re so good but you’re not! Meraxes is mine, not yours, you can’t just take him away, you –”

“I AM YOUR MOTHER!” Daenerys yells, startling the three children in the room; she’s never yelled at them, not like this. She’s tried to reason with him, but she will not have him hitting his brother and disrespect her by screaming at her like that. That’s enough. “And I am their mother. Meraxes is mine as much as he is yours. _I_ brought him into this world. This is temporary, Rhaegal, but I will not have you taking it out on your brother because he’s done nothing.” Her eyes scan over Drogon to see he has a few bloody scratches on his face, as much as Rhaegal has on his. “You’re a prince and therefore hard decisions will always be in your life. There will be a day in which you’ll have to choose what’s best for most of the people instead of what is best for you, and only then you’ll understand why I did what I did.”

Rhaegal takes his time to answer, dark green eyes staring back and forth between his brother and her. “You’re called the Breaker of Chains, but you go and chain your children, _my brothers_ , into the darkest place. You freed people but you took their freedom away, when they have done nothing wrong. I will never forgive you, ever!”

He runs out of the solar – Daenerys stays on place, staring at the door. Her heart was already broken before but knowing that she’s put her sons in such pain because of this, too, it makes her gulp to try to keep the tears inside where they belong.

“I understand why you did it,” Viserion’s soft voice breaks the silence. She looks at him then, sees the confliction inside his gaze. “But it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Dany agrees with him. She walks over to him and hesitates to wraps an arm around his shoulders, for she wants to give them their space and time, but the tears lighting his eyes can’t keep her away from him; and as soon as she does, Viserion is quick to encircle her waist with his arms, burying his face into her stomach and tightly holding on to her. “I wish life could always be fair to you three, but…”

The words die in her mouth because she doesn’t want to bring herself to say it, to admit to her sons that there are things that are beyond her. Daenerys always tries to give them the best, to shelter them from any harm, but she knows it’s time for her to accept that there will be things that escape her control. Her boys and dragons have never been hurt by someone, except her now.

Life won’t always be fair to them. It’s time for them to see that, and for her to realize it too; she’s seen plenty of unfairness in her life, and prays that this one will be the biggest unfair thing her children will ever have to go through their lives.

But something in the back of her head tells her that she _knows_ that won’t be true.

**III**

“You should try harder. I think you’re too slow on that, maybe if you turn around like this…”

Daenerys rises from her seat, ready to walk over to the pair – Daario is supposed to be giving Viserion swordfight lessons in the pit; the boys have been training with Ser Barristan and Grey Worm for years by now, but Ser Barristan is gone and she needs Grey Worm to take care of the Sons of Harpy to protect the city, and though she’s been wary of her sons spending time with Daario, she can’t deny that he’s a good fighter.

Not to mention Daario has been eager to win over the Targaryen princes, with no success. Rhaegal and Drogon don’t like him in the slightest, she knows Viserion doesn’t either but he’s the most polite out of the three. Though that is coming to an end – her blonde boy is about to lash out on the man, for he does nothing but point out his flaws on battle.

“My prince,” Drogon’s voice sounds behind her. She glances over her shoulder to see her other two sons approaching in their armor clothes; they love to wear it, even for practice. With wooden swords in hand, cheeks flushed and messy hairs, they prove that they’ve been practicing on their own, probably wondering where their brother was and have come to get him. “You didn’t address him as such. He is your prince.”

Daenerys turns her attention to Daario, satisfied to see the baffled expression on his face. She’s warned him; he has to know his place. He is no father to her children, he will never be. He is nothing more than her paramour, she has that clear; she’s tried to care for him in a deeper way, but nothing ever comes, and she’s let him know about it in a subtle way;

_“You are not their father. You’re not forced to spend time with them.”_

_“But I can –”_

_“No one will ever father my children. I’m all they have and they are all I have. That is it.”_

Daario doesn’t care about her sons; he only cares about getting closer to them because of her, he knows they are her heart, and that’s what he achieves, but that’s never going to happen. A man that can’t see past her, that will never have her children as priority, has no place in her heart.

And Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion are no fools; even with their nine years – she’s stopped believing in a normal developing for them, they grow twice the normal children a year – they realize that he only wants seek for their attention because of her. And they don’t like that. At all.

Daario looks for her reaction, but all Dany does is raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to answer to her son. He eventually nods at Drogon and focus back on Viserion.

“Forgive me if I’ve offended you, my prince.”

Viserion almost scoffs at him. “You don’t need to tell me I’m too slow – I know that already. And I am trying my hardest –”

“You don’t have to explain anything to him,” Rhaegal intervenes, walking past Daenerys and towards his brother and the warrior in the center of the pit. “You are the best in bows and arrows. You don’t need to try your hardest in this.”

“I’ve been in many battles, my prince,” Daario presses into it. “And I can assure a sword will most likely save your life than bows and arrows.”

“Not if you’re on the back of a grown dragon,” Drogon replies back, heading towards his brothers as well. “And you don’t only make fire rain, but arrows too.”

Daario clicks his tongue, head titling. “A warrior that can’t stand his ground with a sword is no true warrior.”

Daenerys’s lips curve into the tiniest smirk.

The fact that her sons didn’t like Daario, was a small detail for her – he was only his bed warmer, they didn’t truly had to like him _too much_. But there’s always been a common condition between her and Daario, that she never thought had to be put in words, but he wasn’t as smart as she thought him to be; her children could never like him, but _he_ had to like them.

A man that doesn’t stand her children will be no man _at all_ in her eyes.

“Fight them.”

Daario looks at her puzzled. “My Queen?”

“You heard me,” Daenerys answers coldly and firmly, purple eyes glancing over to her sons – she imagines little sparks of fire flashing through their eyes, but she’s sure that he’s touched a nerve in them as much as he did in her. She sits back on the only bench that has been provided for her to watch the practice and folds her hands on her lap. “Fight the three of them. Together. And don’t hold yourself back.”

Daario stares back at the three young boys in front of them and sees the wooden swords ready in their hands, waiting for him. He sighs and smirks to himself, pulling out his both wooden swords as well.

“I will try not to hurt you, my princes.”

Daenerys lets out a small sigh; she really thought him smarter than this.

Drogon launches his sword forward first; to the right, which Daario blocks with ease – Viserion is quick to go for his left, but the man flips it without difficulty, almost taking joy in it. Daenerys sits straighter and waits.

Viserion fights his left and Drogon his right, but all Daario does is block their hits over and over again. It isn’t till Rhaegal attempts to go to his left as he is closer to Viserion, but changes fast to the right and hits Daario’s hand, making him flinch and jump back, that the warrior grows serious on it.

Daario’s left sword goes to attack Rhaegal’s one, but the boy ducks so quick you almost don’t see him do it, and Viserion is the one to block the hit – it’s then that Rhaegal jumps next to Daario and hits on his left hand, making him grimace and let go of his left sword.

His pride seems to be hurt, because he’s blinded by it as he forgets about the other two boys and goes to attack Rhaegal with his right and only weapon, but Drogon hits him on the right side of his hip so hard it makes the man stumble on his balance and lose strength on the hold of his sword, Viserion’s sword goes for his right leg and makes him bend, and all Rhaegal has to do is hit the man’s sword once to make it fly away.

Daario ends up with three swords, charged by three nine years old, directed to his throat.

Daenerys stands up from her seat and claps; Ser Barristan was not wrong when he said that the three Targaryen brothers were the best of their age, and dare he predict; invincible together.

Viserion is smart, Rhaegal is quick and Drogon is strong; each one has his own skill, and all they need to do is mix them together. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah – even if she tries not to think of him – have told her that the three of them share a synchronicity with each other that they’ve never seen in anyone, and that will lead them far into battles.

She walks up to them and watches as the warrior man stands up, stepping back from the three children. She places her hands on Rhaegal and Viserion’s shoulders, pride running through her veins for her sons, but she makes sure her face doesn’t express it at all; all Daario gets are cold, purple eyes and a daring arching eyebrow.

“Were they warriors enough for you, Daario Naharis?”

“They certainly are, my Queen,” he eyes the boys in front of her before a grin appears on his face. “Though I’m afraid I couldn’t truly obey your order. I had to hold myself back, for I could never hurt the princes.”

Daenerys feels Rhaegal and Viserion’s shoulders tensing, she can feel Drogon’s anger scaling, and before any of them launches themselves forward to the man, she adds;

“Yes. You are right. You could _never_ hurt them.”

She knows her sons understand, for the tension she feels coming off of them slowly fades away. A gentle squeeze on their shoulders is enough for the three of them to turn around and walk away with her; she doesn’t have anything else to say to Daario and at least he’s smart enough on not pushing it with her.

“We beat him, mama,” Viserion comments first, breaking the silence between them. “He says he didn’t hold himself back but –”

“He was angry when he tried to attack me,” Rhaegal continues, almost clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“Yes. He _tried_ ,” Drogon has the need to remark, stopping in his tracks to turn around to her. “We’re very good at it, mama. Can we get real swords now?”

Daenerys takes her time to look at their delighted faces, waiting for her answer. She can’t imagine these chubby cheeks tainted with another’s blood, or worse, with their own. But they’ve already proved that one day, they’ll become the mighty warriors they were born to be; she can’t deny she is happy about that, but she can’t also deny that the better they get, the higher the possibilities of them being in the front in battles where she can’t protect them.

At the speed they grow, soon the roles will be reversed and they’ll be the ones always ready to protect her.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

**IV**

She has yet to be used to the wind crashing against her face, the feeling of endless freedom flowing through her as she takes flight on Balerion; there’s nothing compared to the adrenalin that comes with riding a dragon.

Much less if you can share it with your child.

“Mama, I think we’re almost there!”

Daenerys nods as Drogon’s small arms hold on to her and his head rests on her back.

It’s true there’s nothing compared to riding a dragon, but if something can beat it to, it’s the feeling of your children’s arms wrapped around you, and she can’t wait to reach that moment; it’s the first time she’s been separated from Rhaegal and Viserion, but she didn’t have a choice.

Rhaegal and Viserion didn’t want to attend the ceremony of reopening the fighting pits – they were mad at her because she’s denied them to release Meraxes and Vhagar for the fifteenth time, so they refused to be present at the event. Taking in consideration everything that happened, she’s thankful they weren’t there and were safe at the castle.

She hasn’t been in so much fear in her life, her both hands weren’t enough to keep Drogon close to her when the Sons of the Harpy started to murder everything in their way; her little boy, with his only ten years and his thin sword, was ready to fight for them but she did nothing but stick him to her. She still remembered how much her heart was pounding when they were in the center of the fighting pit, surrounded by Sons of the Harpy; there was no way to escape through it.

All she did was hold on to Drogon and take Missandei’s hand, trying to find comfort in her closest friend and closing her eyes to pray to any Gods out there to let her son live – till Balerion’s roar echoed through the place.

He’s grown much since the last time she saw him; a black, giant beast to some, grown enough to set men on fire, rip them apart in two and eat them alive. But some of the former slavers dared to throw spears to Balerion, and no matter how much they threw to him, he kept fighting; he was never going to leave if she and Drogon were still there, in danger.

So she did what she thought was right, even if it was too dangerous – something neither of her ancestors have ever done on their first time riding a dragon. She climbed on top of Balerion and made Drogon climb right behind her, waiting for his arms to wrap her waist before she commanded the dragon;

_“Valahd.”_

Daenerys thought Balerion was going to take them to Rhaegal and Viserion, but he took them far beyond that, and even if she told him to go back multiple times, much as Drogon did, he did not listen.

And as if they hadn’t enough of Balerion taking them to unknown territories, the moment they walked away from him to explore the place, a new khalasar of Dothraki caught them.

Daenerys’s eyes move slightly down, unable to help herself from verifying every now and then the new scar across Drogon’s hand; a mark that will always haunt her with the story behind it.

On their way to whatever they were taking them – to a khal most likely – on one of the many nights they spent walking towards it, after Drogon had fallen asleep, she went to the ever silent and dark brushes a few meters from there, to make water. She was wary of the people around, but mostly for her son; she was too focused on protecting _him_ , that she overlooked some signs about her.

She didn’t see the shadows around the brushes, didn’t hear the steps coming, only focusing on that she had to do things quickly to get back to Drogon. She certainly didn’t expect the two young men jumping onto her, taking her arms from behind and pressing a hand to her mouth.

She fought against it with all she had, but the boys – she could make out their faces, they couldn’t be older than five-and-ten – held her legs and arms and carried her away into darker brushes. She knew what was to come; the tears were already sparkling in her eyes as one of them placed himself on top of her and the other kept holding her arms up her head with one hand while the other pressed against her mouth. The one on top of her had the nerve to look down at her with a smug smile before telling her in his dothraki language;

_“We will be the first to mount the white-haired witch.”_

Daenerys wanted to scream at the top of her lugs when the boy pulled out his length – she couldn’t go through this. Not again.

But before the boy could do something with it, he suddenly fell to the side, and her ten year old appeared behind him, a big rock in his both, tied up hands. But the boy that fell mumbled something through his lips and stirred on the ground, ready to get up again; Drogon screamed in a rage and hit him on the head again, and again, and again.

Daenerys didn’t feel her arms being free from grip, couldn’t hear whatever the other boy screamed, only saw the blood splashing more and more on her child’s face. She couldn’t react, not until the remaining boy pulled out his arakh and went for Drogon’s head; he would have ripped it off, hadn’t her son been faster and stopped it with the rock, though the weapon cut through his hand all the same, even if it was only a little.

It was enough for him to cry out and bring Daenerys back.

She took the first rock she had near and hit the boy on the back of his head, the arakh falling from his hands and near her feet. His body moved from side to side as he touched his bloody neck, and Daenerys gulped hard as she took hold of the arakh as much as she could with her tied up hands.

If he stayed alive, he’d kill them both – if not now, later. Even if he didn’t kill them, someone else would do it for him after knowing what her son did to the other.

_“Drogon. Look away.”_

_“Mama –”_

_“Look. Away.”_

Daenerys took a deep breath and clung to the arakh; she’d never killed anyone with her own hands… ever, except for Drogo, but to put him out of his misery. She held the arakh up and remembered that it was either his or Drogon’s life – he was just a boy, but a boy that was willing to rape her. Nothing of this would have happened if they didn’t try it. She felt her breathing fastening, her heart pounding with speed as she kept her eyes down on him and lowered the sharp weapon into his skin.

Dany swallows hard as she still remembers the way her heart clenched to see all the blood over her son – on his clothes, his face, his neck, his hands. It was everywhere. They were near a lake, so she took her chance. Perhaps that was one of the hardest things she’s ever done; washing as fast as she could the blood off her ten year old son, blood that didn’t belong to him but to a boy he just murdered because he was going to rape her.

_“I killed him.”_

_“You saved me.”_

_“But I killed him. And I’d do it again. They were going to hurt you. No one can hurt you, mama.”_

Balerion lands, making her blink in realization. She’ll try to forget about it but she knows that won’t happen; that was the first man her child had killed – the moment his innocent was stolen. She’ll never forget it, but as she slides off from the black dragon and helps him get down, she wonders if she’ll come back to the innocence stolen from her other two children as well.

When Daario and Ser Jorah found them and helped her burn down the temple of the Dosh Khaleen, they told her Rhaegal and Viserion decided to take the command instead of Tyrion Lannister, with Meraxes and Vhagar, unchained and free, to keep everyone on their place till her return.

Drogon had killed someone. Rhaegal and Viserion took charge of a city. Her boys weren’t babies anymore… and that was starting to sink in her heart.

Daenerys and Drogon walk in her chambers, the Unsullied quickly kneel, Grey Worm, Missandei and Tyrion lasting only a couple seconds for them to do the same, but that doesn’t matter to her; her purple eyes search around the room, and before she can find them, she hears them;

“Mama!”

Her arms open wide just as her two boys crash against her, holding on to her as much as they could. Her hand reaches out for Drogon, to feel him close, and so then Daenerys breathes out in relief for the first time in a while; her children are safe, she is safe.

But the city is not.

Daenerys moves away from Rhaegal and Viserion and stares into their eyes, seeing the same light there’s always been. She gives them a tiny smile and lets go of them, looking up at the adults behind them and giving them room to embrace their brother.

“Why is the city on fire?” she asks directly to Tyrion.

Missandei, Grey Worm and Tyrion look at each other, as if the answers were on one another. Rhaegal stands in front of her instead, a serious scowl between his eyebrows.

“We tried to make peace with the slave masters. We told them to surrender before you got here, but they said no children were going to rule over them. They refused.”

Daenerys glances over to the Lannister man, noticing the brief disapproval crossing his features before he looks away. She focuses back on Rhaegal and arches an eyebrow.

“So what did you do?”

“I told them you were going to take care of them once you came back, but we climbed on Meraxes and Vhagar and burned down their ships.”

Daenerys sees the smile tugging in Drogon’s face out of the corner of her eyes before he whispers, “Dracarys.”

His brothers mirror his small smile, until Viserion grows serious again. “But more ships got here just tonight. We were going to burn them too, but Lord Tyrion says that’s not how politics work, that we shouldn’t follow our grandfather’s sense of justice.”

Dany snaps back at Tyrion; the fire must be showing off her eyes for the lord only lowers his head, unable to hold her gaze. “My Queen…”

“We will discuss all this in the morning. I want everyone out. I will stay with my children.”

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion exchange tales of experience on their time separated; they’re proud at each other’s achievements, Rhaegal and Viserion beyond amazed at the way she’d conquered a new khalasar, and beyond pleased for what their brother did to the young man that was about to hurt her.

They haven’t slept with her in a long time, but she wants them nowhere else this night. Her bed is large enough for all of them; as they sleep, they can seem as nothing but innocent boys. They are, they will always be in her eyes, but they’re not little children anymore, they’re going to be young men soon. And it’s time she starts treating them as such.

That’s why the next morning, when she tries to make peace with the slave masters by letting them surrender and they refuse once more, she climbs on top of Balerion with Drogon, as Rhaegal and Viserion join them on Meraxes and Vhagar, and with her dragons and her children, she burns down ships and takes back Meeren.

**V**

Jon Snow.

The King in the North, the White Wolf, the bastard of Winterfell.

The man that has stolen her heart.

_Love can blind_ , she knows it to be true; that’s how she knows she loves him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so careless, much less with her children.

Jon genuinely cares for her sons. She’s seen in the way they interact with each other; he’s practiced sword fighting with them, catching them on many of their practices in much opportunities – he never, not once, pointed out any of their flaws and instead encouraged them to deepen into their skills.

He grew faster in Rhaegal’s heart than any of his brothers, sharing unknown jokes with him, her son claiming to be _a men’s thing_ whenever she’d catch them exchanging cheeky glances between them. He was suspicious of him in the beginning, much as she was, but after hearing that Jon was better than a good warrior, he decided to give him a chance; the man seemed to be fond of her child as well, for he had no problem in giving the boy advice about how to stand on battle, the tricks he could do with a sword, telling him his own experiences on wars. Soon Jon Snow was a hero in Rhaegal’s eyes, even if there was still the small detail that he refused to bend the knee to her. Her son was firm to believe he’d do it, sooner rather than later.

Drogon has been very wary at first. He didn’t like Jon’s attitude at all; he thought him to be too proud, too bumptious, too crazy for talking about dead men walking and about to conquer the world if they didn’t stop them. He didn’t even like her idea to let him mine the dragon glass to give him something to entertain himself as he evaluated his choices, her son was determined that he _had to_ bend the knee with no excuses. He even refused to practice with him and only allowed it when Jon beat Rhaegal three times in a row. Turned out, Jon beat him on the first, and Drogon, not being able to control his temper yet, beat him on the second round, by accidentally making a small cute on his right cheek and almost chopping off Jon’s hand hadn’t he stumbled on his steps and fall back. She remembers watching that from afar and getting tense by Jon’s reaction; but the northern man only laughed and took notice of how strong he was, much when he was angry, which wasn’t always a good thing. After that incident, Drogon seemed more acceptable of him by talking to him on suppers, by practicing more with him, by starting to let room at the possibility of the White Walkers.

And Viserion… a sob threatens to rip through her throat at the memory of her youngest baby. Viserion was never wary or suspicious of Jon, he thought him to be good from the first, he was the only one that could understand Jon’s point of view; he didn’t know them and he had his people on his back, he couldn’t let them down, he needed time to trust them and bend the knee to them. Viserion loved fighting as much as reading and Jon noted that, finding him many times with books on hands and even telling her how smart her son was, which meant they had to have conversations about many topics she wasn’t aware of.

But most of all, Viserion liked how Jon never told him he was too slow on fighting and instead helped him shoot things from a great distance. Her boy was excited to know that Jon would have arrows prepared of dragon glass especially for him, for the Great War to come.

The sob does rip through her throat in the end; she feels the hot and big tears coming out from her swollen eyes and rolling down her cheeks, but she can’t find it in her to care. Her purple gaze stays on Viserion, lying down on the bed she’s sitting, his eyes closed, his face as pale as the snow, his lips still lightly blue.

He looks like he’s sleeping. How she wishes that to be true.

“Viserion,” Dany tries again, her voice coming out sore and dead. “It’s me, mama,” they haven’t called her like that in a long time; their growing has to be one of a thirteen year old by now and they only reserve the ‘ _mama_ ’ name for special occasions, claiming they’re grown now. “You have to wake up, sweetling. I know your bond with Vhagar is strong, but what you and your brothers have, what you and I have, that’s much stronger than anything. I know you can wake up, my dear. Please,” she begs and waits, hoping for the miracle to happen, for this seventh day to be the one to end her misery, but nothing happens. “I’m sorry…” she reaches out to place a hand on his cheek, a small frowning settling in to still feel his skin so cold. _A dragon should never be cold;_ her own words resonate inside her head, words that she’s said to Drogon once. She’s arranged Viserion’s chambers to be filled with warm and big candles, to keep him warm, for this coldness to stop, but nothing ceases it. Her mind goes back to Vhagar, alone and cold in the ice water – her gaze gets more blurred by the new water gathering and another sob makes its way out. “I’m so sorry.”

Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong.

Ser Jorah, Jon Snow and his men decided to go get a White Walker as proof for Cersei Lannister, so she could join them on this war to come and make a truce on the war between them. But a raven arrived on Dragonstone asking for her help, for they’d been over numbered.

And she didn’t think it twice.

Her hand, Tyrion Lannister, tried to stop her, but her mind was made up. She climbed on Balerion and didn’t opposite when Rhaegal and Viserion claimed they wanted to go with her; the more dragons, the better. They didn’t know what they were going to find.

They arrived just in time to save them; there were too many of them. Thousands. Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar made fire rain upon all the White Walkers, till Daenerys made Balerion land on a rock to take Jon and the others with her and get out of there, as Meraxes and Vhagar, with Rhaegal and Viserion on top of them, kept breathing fire around.

Ser Jorah and the others, along with the wright they’d captured, managed to climb on the dragon’s back, but Jon kept fighting off many others wrights, moving away from them more and more.

Daenerys was so focused on him, on his wellbeing; she just wanted him to come back to her so they could leave, for him to be unharmed with all the dead around him that kept going to him, that she didn’t see the Night King walking forward with the large spear.

She didn’t see it, but she felt it.

Dany felt like a knife cut through her skin right on her chest as soon as the spear hit Vhagar’s body. She’d snapped her head towards the golden dragon crying out, watched big amounts of blood coming out from his wing, and noticed Viserion still on top of him;

_“VISERION!”_

Vhagar kept crying out in pain as he fell from the sky, Balerion and Meraxes kept roaring in distress for their brother as all Daenerys could do was watch. Watch how her dragon child fell to the iced ground, with Viserion holding on to his back, how the ground broke open under him as it started to swallow the dragon down, but with the little strength and life that Vhagar had left, he moved to the side and pushed Viserion’s body off of him, onto the ground.

Even if they were meters away, Daenerys heard Vhagar’s last breath as he disappeared into the ice water and she felt something breaking inside her… forever.

_“VISERION!” Daenerys had screamed once more at the top of her lugs, her legs moving quickly, ready to jump off Balerion and go get her boy, hadn’t Ser Jorah held her back from her arm. “Let go of me, I have to get him, I –”_

Meraxes landed right next to Viserion as Rhaegal quickly jumped off of him and caught his unconscious brother on his arms, struggling to climb back on the dragon with him.

_“Go, now, leave!”_

Jon had screamed, trying to get back to them, but wrights jumped onto him and took him down with them into the water; Daenerys swallowed and felt a new distress to see him disappear into it, but only then saw the Night King approaching closer with a new spear.

She switched her gaze back to Rhaegal finishing placing Viserion on Meraxes’s back and looked back at the Night King, seeing he was getting closer, but she was _not_ going to leave without making sure Meraxes took flight with her children on him.

_“Rhaegal, leave, now!”_

For her scream, Rhaegal seemed to notice the Night King and was fast to jump on Meraxes – it was then that Daenerys crouched down and Balerion started to fly up. She kept her eyes on Meraxes, seeing how he did the same, and when the spear didn’t come for him, she realized it was going for Balerion – so the black dragon flew to the side and she saw the large spear passing right next to them.

Soon the green dragon came to fly alongside her. Viserion seemed to be seating in front of Rhaegal, but he was still unconscious, his brother holding on to him as his life depended of it. They exchanged glances; even at the distance they were, Daenerys could see the tears in his green eyes, the way his cheeks shone with them.

They were on the ship now, coming back to Dragonstone, to Drogon. He must know by now of Vhagar’s death, he must have felt it as much as she and Rhaegal did, for the dragons are brothers to her children. Rhaegal told her Drogon already knows about Viserion; her boys have the strange and magic ability to be able to hear things that happened to the other, without being there.

But most importantly, the four of them have such strong connection with each other, that they can share feelings. She can feel when their children are in real danger, or truly angry or sad – she can feel their strong emotions as much as they can feel hers and with each other.

Viserion hasn’t woken up since a week ago. His bones are fine. His heart and lungs are fine. There’s nothing wrong with his body. Still, he doesn’t wake up… but which is the strangest and scariest thing, is that she can’t reach out for him in this connection they share. She can’t find him. And Rhaegal can’t, either.

It’s like he’s gone. Except he is not. She refuses to believe that.

“My Queen,” Jon’s voice sounds near. She looks over to the chambers’ entrance to see him standing on the doorway, a cane on hand. He’s woken up a few days ago, she was the first thing he saw, he’s bent the knee to her at least, and she told him they were going to defeat the Night King and his army. Together. “May I?”

Daenerys gives a single and weak nod. He’s careful to step in, closing the door gently behind him, as if not to disturb Viserion, and is slow to walk towards them as she keeps her red, purple eyes on her boy in front of her, her fingers holding on to his hand.

“I’m sorry, Dany,” there’s such truth and agony in his voice that she has to press her lips and put effort on not breaking down right there and then, being firm to keep her gaze on Viserion, because she knows that if he finds his dark, lovely eyes, there will be no coming back from the tears. She can’t break – not more than she already has, not only because she’s a Queen, but because her children, the three of them. “If I could switch places, I would do it in a heartbeat. I never, ever, wanted this to happen…”

“I know.”

“He’ll wake up. He is a strong boy.”

“He was the smallest of them when they were babies,” she smiles to the memory, to his chubby arms wrapping around her neck any chance he could and his slobbery mouth always placing kisses to her cheek. “But he’s always been strong, as much as his brothers; he just shows it in a different way. He once asked me what my strength was, and even at five, he was smart enough to know that it was them. My children are my strength, they are my heart, they are my soul… they are everything to me, Jon. Everything,” she turns to search for his eyes this time, trying her best to keep a straight face; she’s no fool, she knows he has feelings for her as well, and he needs to know her children’s place in her life, in case that hasn’t been clear before. “Do you understand?” there’s nothing but understanding crossing his dark gaze as he gives her a short nod of head. “Anyone that hurts them… there’s no telling what I have in mind for them. I want him destroyed, in a painful and slow way.”

“I will gladly do it that way…” Dany watches as he gets closer to Viserion and touches his forehead, moving away a bit of his blonde-cream hair away from it. “Everyone thought my brother, Bran, after falling from that tower, was going to die. But I knew he wasn’t going to. If he survived that, I’m sure Viserion will get through this, and stronger than ever.”

Daenerys moves her gaze back to her son, trying to find comfort in his words as she can easily find it, because the other possibility is not an option in her head, though she knows the fear of it will always haunt her, and she can only hope that it won’t eat her alive like a poison.

“He will,” the words slip out from her mouth, flat and emotionless. “Because I don’t know what I’m capable of if he doesn’t.”

**VI**

Balerion lands on top of the building and roars, expressing through it the anger and hate she’s feeling inside. Daenerys holds on to him and breathes in and out, desperate for all of it to end. She keeps her eyes on the Red Keep, waiting for it – waiting for Cersei to surrender and ring the bells, waiting to see Rhaegal unharmed and well.

She waits and waits, the shaking in her hands is starting to expand throughout her whole body, she tries to control it, but it’s stronger than her; there’s a voice in the back of her head troubling her, doubting everything she’s ever fought for, making her revive things that have been occupying her mind for the past time.

Vhagar’s death. Viserion, unconscious on a bed – it’s been months and he hasn’t woken up still. _He’ll never wake up. It’s all your fault. You could have done this sooner, and Vhagar would be here. Viserion would be okay._

Daenerys shakes slightly her head and tries to steady her breathing; screams reach her ears, people are yelling and running everywhere on the ground; men, women and children, looking up at her and her dragon, scared to death.

The North. She’s given them everything she had; her armies, her dragons, her time with her children. Rhaegal and Drogon had gone with her, but Viserion stayed back on Dragonstone – she should have stayed with him, but she couldn’t delay the Great War, she had to help. _What has the North given you in response? Nothing but disrespect. You had to destroy your dragon child yourself. You lost one of your closest friends on the battle, but nothing will ever satisfy them. They’ll never accept you. They’ll never accept your rule. They’re a threat to your reign and your children after you. You were too naïve with them._

Daenerys swallows and looks back, seeing the Unsullied and the Northern army breaking in through King’s Landing gates and heading to the Lannister soldiers. She looks forward again, seeing the smoke still rising from the burned boats of the Greyjoy’s fleet.

Meraxes’s death. She was flying on Balerion with Drogon behind her, Rhaegal right next to them on the green dragon, they were so close to home, to getting back to Viserion, but suddenly a spear shot Meraxes right into his chest; she remembers the despair in her voice as she shouted Rhaegal’s name before the other spears hit the dragon, one of them crossing through his neck, the blood raining from the sky as he started falling. _No, not again._ Meraxes fell into the sea, along with Rhaegal, and she didn’t doubt to lower Balerion to it, but another spear flew right next to them, and another as a few of the Unsullied threw themselves into the water to go after their prince. She held on to Balerion, Drogon’s arms pressed against her, letting her know he was ready, and she charged against the Greyjoy fleet, too blinded by pain and anger to think rationally.

Balerion went directly to all the ships, they were too many, but she could feel the dragon’s anger – his, her son’s, and hers… too much to channel through his fire. They had to burn them all, no matter the cost.

Daenerys screamed in so much rage… Balerion roared along with her, but Drogon’s scream in her ear was enough for her to realize she couldn’t lose another child and commanded the dragon to the side to elude all the upcoming spears.

She had to fly away, looking back to not see the Unsullied or Rhaegal on the sea’s surface. She prayed to all the gods out there for her son to be safe, trying to ignore Drogon’s scream to come back for Rhaegal, to destroy Euron’s fleet, but she couldn’t; coming back would mean Balerion getting shot, perhaps both of them as well. The Unsullied were going to get Rhaegal, that was what she kept telling herself. _But you were wrong. You abandoned him. You left him for the lions to feed on him. What kind of mother does that?_

“No,” she whispers to herself more than anything. The bells still don’t ring, all that she can hear is the chaos expanding on the ground. She looks back and manages to catch sight of the Lannisters soldiers throwing their weapons in front of Grey Worm and Jon and their armies. “Jon.”

Tyrin and Varys conspiring against her to favor Jon. Her advisors – the persons she’s supposed to trust the most. Varys had to be excused, for his treason was too notable. Tyrion… he’s freed his brother, who was her prisoner. He’s no more innocent than Varys was; he might be even worse. Jaime was her guarantee to get Rhaegal back and he’d set him free. _What good come from listening to them? If you’d attacked King’s Landing from the first, as you wanted, nothing of this would have happened. You’d have your dragons… your sons. But you listened to them and they betrayed you in the end._

Jon is a Targaryen. She loves him with all her being, she loves him as she’s never loved a man before. He’s a good man; perhaps the best man she’s ever met. He fights for what he believes, he thinks of his people more than anything, he intends to save everyone, even if it means at the cost of his life. He protects those he loves. He loves her, or so she wants to believe; his eyes used to reserve such love for her whenever they’d land on her, but on the last days… she couldn’t find it. She searched and searched through his dark pools, desperate to find that light meant for her, but there was nothing there. Not since he found out about his true heritage. It meant nothing for her; they share blood, but she’s grown up believing Viserys could be her husband, it’s no strange for her – but it meant everything for him. The only thing that was added to the things that kept her up at night was that he had a better claim to the Throne than her and her children; everything she’s ever fought, could be reduced to nothing but ashes. There could be a rebellion as soon as everyone heard of him as a Targaryen.

She could get through it; she can get through anything, if she can only have not only her children, but him by her side.

“Jon,” Daenerys begs, her hands incredibly shaking from the uncontrollable and too many emotions exploding inside her. She turns back to see Jon in the distance, but he’s focused on the soldiers in front of him. “Jon,” she calls softly again. She needs his arms to wrap around her, she needs to hear his heartbeat, a sound that sends calmness through her – but he doesn’t look, he doesn’t see her, he hasn’t done it for a while by now. _He’s disgusted by you. You’re his aunt, nothing more. He says he loves you, but he can’t even kiss you, he can’t even hug you – nothing will ever be the same between you both. He’ll take your throne, sooner than later. Everyone betrays you in the end, he’ll be no exception._

“Ring the bells! Ring the bells!” the people keep screaming as they run everywhere.

Rhaegal and Missandei’s kidnappings. She still remembers how sweaty she’s woken up from the nightmare she had the night after they were taken; no, not a nightmare. A memory… just not _her_ memory. Drogon breaking in her chambers to tell her what he saw in his dreams confirmed it was Rhaegal’s memory. They both had dreamed of Rhaegal walking through the streets of King’s Landing, the same ones that she’s looking upon at the moment, with no clothes on, with his feet and his hands chained, with all those same people screaming in terror, throwing things at him; rocks, rotten vegetables, trash, pissing on his feet. None of them were crying and scared for their lives when they did that; men, women and children had nothing but wicked, satisfied grins, louds laughs and countless insults for her boy – for a fourteen year old boy.

Neither Drogon nor Daenerys told anyone what they saw about Rhaegal; there was a reason Cersei didn’t send a raven to tell her such thing. She’s sure she’s holding that information back for when she thinks she surrenders to protect her son’s life or perhaps to tell her _after_ she makes a deal with her letting her keep her life in exchange of Rhaegal’s one.

“Ring the bells, please, ring the bells!”

Missandei’s death. Her heart about to leave her chest as she watched her best friend and her son up there, on King’s Landing’s gates, not knowing what to expect. Tyrion has, vainly, tried to talk his sister out of it; he convinced her he could get through her, and she’d stupidly believed him, fearing if she attacked it’d mean her child’s death without doubts. Once again, Tyrion Lannister failed her.

Her heart had stopped when Cersei’s personal guard, the Mountain pulled out the sword; Rhaegal and Missandei were standing in front of them, separated by a few feet, chained – even at the distance they were, she could see a cut on her son’s forehead, one of the many rocks that the smallfolk had thrown at him, but he kept his chin up much as she knew he did through that city’s streets. The Mountain had stepped forward as she did, she’d never felt so much despair in her life; it was going to be either her son or her best friend, the mere thought was enough for the blood in her veins to run cold, to feel her legs weaken, but she had to watch as Cersei turned towards them and mumbled a few words.

It was only when Rhaegal snapped his head towards Missandei and Missandei did not move, that she knew. _“Dracarys!”_ was the last word of her friend, her most loyal friend, the one that was like a second mother to her children. Daenerys stared, helpless, as the blade that the guard had pulled out, moved towards Missandei, separating her body from her head, ending her life. She kept her eyes on Cersei, many thoughts running through her head, but only one stayed in the end.

_Dracarys._

Daenerys swallows and moves her gaze back to the Red Keep, knowing Cersei is there watching. She won’t ring the bells; she thinks that no matter what happens with her army, she’s already won by having Rhaegal as hostage. She thinks it’ll paralyze her. She knows it _does_ paralyze her, but Cersei doesn’t know what she can do when she’s paralyzed.

_“We should have never come to Westeros; we should have stayed on Essos – that’s where we belong. But you wanted that fucking iron chair, the Iron Throne! Where did that take us?! Viserion has been dying for weeks. Rhaegal is probably going to die too. We lost Vhagar and Meraxes, Ser Jorah and Missandei. And who’s to blame for all that, mother?”_

Westeros cost her too much – it cost her her people, her closest friends, her dragons, her children. She’s trusted and she’s been betrayed. She’s loved and she’s been rejected. She’s lost Jon’s love, she’s lost Viserion’s sweet golden eyes, she’s lost Drogon’s belief, and she can lose Rhaegal’s life.

_“If there’s something I will never be able to bear, is losing one of you. That’s why I’m bringing your brother home – no matter the cost. I promise.”_

No matter the cost.

Despite all, Daenerys can give them one last chance; she wants Cersei to snap her out of her misery by ringing the bells, she wants the sound to cease the feelings, the voices, the images crossing her mind all at once. She inhales and exhales with all she has, the tears getting in the middle of her sight to the Red Keep.

Vhagar’s death. Ser Jorah’s death. Meraxes’ death. Tyrion’s betrayal. Missandei’s death. Jon’s cold touch. Viserion’s coma. Drogon’s pain. Rhaegal’s public shame.

_“I don’t have love here, except for my sons. One of them has been at the edge of death for months. Another one has been taken from me and may be killed. And the last one… he’s lost his faith in me and has every right to. I only have fear.”_

She doesn’t break her promises. She’s promised Drogon she is going to bring Rhaegal home, no matter the cost. She’s made an unbreakable promise to her children, the day they were born; no one would ever hurt them as long as she lived, and those that did, would die screaming, in fire and blood.

The bells don’t ring.

Rhaegal is nowhere to be seen, safe and well.

Daenerys holds on to Balerion as he takes on flight. No more tears. No more pity. No more regrets.

Only fire and blood.

**VII**

Daenerys looks in awe at the seat in front of her; the Iron Throne. Her fingers reach out to it, slowly and carefully – she remembers her vision in the House of the Undying, how she was unable to touch it because she had to get her dragons… but that was a vision, this… this is reality.

Her hand comes around its edge as her fingers wrap around it; it hasn’t been all for nothing. The losses, the fire, the blood. It all led to this, to her goal. She’s done it.

She won.

But her heart can’t truly enjoy it, not without her boys here with her.

A few steps are heard in the distance. Dany turns around, hoping to see Rhaegal once and for all, but it’s Jon instead.

“Rhaegal?”

Jon starts to take slow steps towards her. “I haven’t seen him, but he’s been seen taking Cersei and Jaime Lannisters as hostages. They say he’s just as fine.”

Her lips quirk up into the tiniest grin – her boy will be here soon, she’ll wrap her arms around him and will not let go of him for long minutes, she’ll get to watch his beautiful, bright green eyes and kiss his cheeks till he tells her he’s too old for that now. Perhaps he won’t, because she knows he misses her as much.

She turns to the Iron Throne once again, a memory flashing across her mind.

“I used to tell my children the same tale my brother used to tell me when I was a girl. That the throne was made with thousands swords from Aegon’s fallen enemies. What do thousands swords look like in the mind of a little girl who can’t count to twenty?” she moves away from the throne and walks down the steps, closer to Jon, her smile spreading to remember her boys’ delighted faces to her stories. “My children weren’t older than me when I told them these tales, but they didn’t care about the swords, they cared about who was going to sit first on it when I took it –”

“I saw them executing Lannister prisoners in the streets,” Jon interrupts her, her smile slowly fading at the harshness of his words. “They say they’re acting on your orders.”

“It was necessary.”

“Necessary? Have you been down there? Have you seen?!” Daenerys flinches at the tone of his voice; he’s never spoken to her in such way. Ever. “Children younger than your boys. Little children burnt!”

Daenerys swallows and composes herself. She has intended to go for the men and soldiers first; she was blind by rage. She couldn’t see anything beyond the laughing faces, amused smirks of the smallfolk as they humiliated her son. She did not want to see. She wanted fire, fire and fire.

But at some point, not much later after Balerion started to breathe fire on King’s Landing, she saw a brown-haired boy among the people. Balerion had landed on one of the already destroyed buildings, Daenerys had looked down at that boy in particular, but when he turned around, he wasn’t Rhaegal. It was just a boy; a confused, scared boy, with his face grey from the smoke, thin clear lines on his cheeks from the tears spilling from his eyes – she looked around then; saw men and women burning, little girls and boys desperately running around, stumbling on their feet and crashing against one another to try to get away. It shattered her heart, but by the time she looked behind her and saw the smoke moving up from different corners of the city, it was too late.

She had done that. Her mind had been focused on burning the entire city down, but she couldn’t bring herself to keep doing it. Instead, her hard, purple eyes glared towards the Red Keep – that had to be her goal. So she went for it, leaving the smallfolk behind and trying not to think about what she’d already done.

“I tried to make peace with Cersei,” she calmly explains to Jon, ignoring his last words. She can’t picture that; she can’t even think about it, so she hides it in the darkest parts of her mind, hoping to never find it. “I waited for the bells to ring. Nothing happened. I waited to see my son, unharmed and well. Nothing happened. You didn’t see what I see, what they did to him.”

“What did they do to him?” Dany doesn’t see concern or worry on his features, only exasperation, as if nothing she can say will justify what she did. She’s not sure he isn’t right and she’s not sure she isn’t, either. “What about Tyrion?”

“He conspired behind my back with my enemies…” she takes steps towards him, remembering her previous hand’s biggest betrayal. “He freed Jaime Lannister, my only chance at getting back Rhaegal. He betrayed me. He put my son’s life in danger.”

“Forgive him, he –”

“No.”

Is he even listening to her? How could she ever forgive the life of the man that could have been the reason her child was murdered. The moment Cersei got back Jaime without trading Rhaegal in return, was the moment that Rhaegal was going to be killed.

“Send him to the wall, maybe –”

“He –” she interrupts him, dangerously lowering her voice. “–put my son’s life in danger. That is all, Jon.”

Sorrow grows in Jon’s face as he steps closer to her. “But you can forgive all of them. Make them see they made a mistake. Make them understand,” his lips switch up very slightly, in the ghost of a smile. “Please, Dany.”

She can see he’s being truthful about his words; he always is. He truly believes that’s the right thing to do. She trusts him he knows what’s the right to do, that’s why she feels conflicted for a moment, but she remembers she has to trust in herself more than anything, and so she tells him;

“We can’t hide behind small mercies. The world we need won’t be built by men loyal to the world we had.”

“The world we need is a world of mercy; it has to be.”

“And it will be,” she walks closer to him, a small smile tugging at her lips to imagine the new world she can start building for her sons, at last, with him. “It’s not easy to see something it’s never been before. A good world.”

“How do you know?” he’s afraid, she can tell. She places a hand on his chest, right where she knows his heart is; she can feel it beating against her, so fast… she wants him to see, to understand that he doesn’t have to be afraid, that they’ll build this new, good world together. “How do you know it’ll be good?”

“Because I know what is good,” her children’s smiling faces come to her vision, their laughter reasoning inside her mind. That is good; children laughing and being free. She intends to make that possible, no matter what. “And so do you.”

“No, I don’t,” Jon whispers, the tears sparkling in his dark eyes, almost refusing to meet hers.

“You do,” she puts her hand on his shoulders, _needing_ him to understand. He needs to trust in himself as much as she trusts in herself; together, the two of them, with her children, they’ll be unstoppable. “You’ve always known.”

“What about everyone else? All the other people who thinks they know what’s good?”

“We have to give them the chance to see what is good, and if they don’t… that will be another problem.” She takes hold of him, smiles to feel his hand finding the back of her head to bring her closer. “Be with me. Stay with me and my children. Build the new world with us. Your place has always been with us; you just didn’t know it. We can be your family. We can do it. We do it, together. We break the wheel together.”

“You are my Queen. Now and always.”

Dany smiles and kiss him, deep and sweetly, for she feels genuinely happy knowing he’ll be by her side in this dream she wants to come true; them and her children, the last Targaryens, they will bring glory back on their family name, all of them. Viserion will wake up, Rhaegal will be back in her arms, Drogon will believe in her again, and everything will be okay between her and Jon. And the five of them, together, will rule this new world they’re going to build, they will –

Jon suddenly breaks apart from her and steps back. She’s confused at first, but then she notices something shinning in his right hand; her eyes move down to it as she sees the knife he’s holding.

“I can’t…” he whispers, tears ready to leave his eyes, head shaking from side to side. “But you have to promise me you won’t hurt any more innocents, Dany. Please. I beg you.”

Dany swallows hard, eyes moving back and forth between the knife and his face. What was he going to do with that knife? Was he going to – realization hits her; he’s thought about killing her. He can still do it.

She could have expected anything… but this. This betrayal… she can’t believe it, she doesn’t want to, but it’s as real as the image in front of her; Jon, the love of her life, holding a knife that’s meant for her heart.

The only image of it is enough for the action.

“Jon?”

“Dany. Promise me. Please.”

He takes a step towards her, but she steps back, her breathing growing heavy with fear. Jon stares at her, desperate and confused, as if he isn’t holding a weapon that can end her life. She stares back at him, and down to the knife again, feeling the gulp in her throat starting to ache.

“I won’t –” Jon starts saying.

Her breath is cut off. A piercing pain appears in her chest; for a mere second, she believes this is what real heartbreak feels like, but the pain is strong… too strong that it starts spreading to every cell of her body. She looks down at her chest and sees the end of an arrow through it.

Daenerys looks up at Jon; panic rises inside of her as her hands desperately reach out for him, her legs weakening with a step she takes towards him to the point she can’t hold herself up anymore but Jon’s arms wrap around her as he falls with her.

“No, no, no,” Jon starts whispering, eyes moving everywhere on her in despair, his arms tightening as he holds her close to him, his knee behind her back. “No, it’s okay. Dany. Stay here. I’m sorry.”

Daenerys opens her mouth slowly, she wants to tell him she loves him, even after everything, she can never stop loving him. She wants to tell him she doesn’t want to die, she wants to tell him to save her; she can’t die – her boys… she can’t leave them. She has to see Viserion waking up, meet his beautiful golden eyes again. She has yet to wrap her arms around Rhaegal and kiss his cheeks till he tells her to stop. She still has to come back home, to Drogon, and hears he loves her back.

The pain is spreading too fast, too much.

She will no longer be able to protect her children. They’re still too young to be motherless. What will be of them without her? Tears and more tears come from Jon’s dark eyes; that’s the last thing she’ll ever see. His dark eyes crying for her.

“I’m sorry…”

“My…” she doesn’t have the strength to speak, blood is spilling out from her nose already, but her fingers hold on to Jon’s arms and her purple eyes bore into his gaze. “My s – sons…”

That will be the only way she can ever forgive him.

Jon stares into her gaze and frowns slightly, understanding what she means. But she has to hear it from him, even if she can feel death and darkness wrapping all of her, she can’t go without knowing her children won’t be alone – her fingers squeeze Jon’s arm once again, her purple eyes showing off the desperation that’s starting to fade inside as well.

“They’ll be okay. I will protect them. You have my word.”

Daenerys doesn’t want to, but she can let go now. Her hands fall from Jon’s arms as she moves her eyes up into the sky, hearing Balerion roaring in the distance. Jon is sobbing on her, muttering words she can no longer listen to; the dragon’s screech is the only thing she hears, her children’s faces are the only thing she sees.

They’ve been the first thing she thinks in the morning and the last in the night, ever since she brought them into the world through fire and blood. She can only hope that they’ll forgive her for leaving the world so early for them, but everything she’s ever done has been for them; her armies, her actions, her dreams. She wants them to remember that. It was all for them.

_Drogon. Rhaegal. Viserion._

Dany’s last thought goes for them as the sound of Balerion’s screech fades away and the grey sky turns into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter focused on Daenerys and her view on her children, but it needed to be done to understand a bit of how deep their loss is and will be, and to explain things that could only be explained through her POV. I know there's been little of my boy Jon so far, but that's what next chapters and different POV's are for, right? ;)_


	3. Targaryens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's been 84 years..._
> 
> _Can't do anything but apologize for the hiatus or delay, college and work has been soooo stressful this year. College is done, so that's why I had free time to keep writing. I never, not once, thought about leaving this story. I wanted to continue it so bad, and now I'm happy I finally can!_
> 
> _A little summary for those that don't want to re-read the chapters: last chapter was about Daenerys' bond with her sons, it ended with her death, an arrow piercing through her chest from behind... Jon didn't kill her, he thought about it for a moment but in the end he couldn't do it. First chapter was about the boys dealing with their mother's death and ending with their come back to avenge her and take what is hers, and therefore, theirs._
> 
> _This chapter starts right after the end of last chapter, which is, Dany's death, but from Jon's POV. And then we're back to the present, also from Jon's POV. We had the children and Dany's POVs, now it's his turn._
> 
> _Also please, not to be rude, but if you don't like it the main plot of the story, don't read! There's no need to leave hateful and rude comments on something someone has worked very hard on and shares it for others that might like it. Thank you!_

* * *

* * *

**TARGARYENS**

Jon held Daenerys’ body tighter to his own; he couldn’t watch her purple, lifeless eyes any longer, so he closed his eyes and let the tears fall on her chest. He was well aware of the man that was watching him from afar, the one responsible for this – but he was as responsible as him. He’d helped him – he’d fully trusted in him, and he’d betrayed him. He’d betrayed them both, but it wasn’t his life paying the price for it, though it should be.

Balerion’s screech was heard in the distance. Jon opened his eyes and stared back at her angelical face. His hand was shaking, but still, it went up to her face, to her cheek tainted with blood; he was about to close her eyes when a voice broke the cold, silent room.

“Jon? Where’s my mother?” Rhaegal. Jon felt the painful gulp settling in his throat, his breath being cut off all of sudden. He couldn’t turn around to meet his eyes; he couldn’t do it. “Something’s wrong! Jon…” his careful steps echoed through the room. “Who is that? Who are you holding?!” the tears were escaping from his eyes faster and bigger, but he had to do it. He owned him that much; the poor little boy. Jon turned his head towards Rhaegal behind him, the boy’s green eyes widening in horror to stare into his dark pools as his chest started to move fast as his gaze looked past him, towards the face that would haunt him forever. “Mother?”

Rhaegal hurried to him and fell on his knees in front of him. His arms desperately reached out for his mother; Jon released her and left her in her son’s arms. “No, no,” Rhaegal started whispering, his watery eyes looking everywhere on her body in such panic he’s never seen before. “Mama?” he looked so lost as his green eyes moved up to him, in search of answers. There was nothing of the brave, strong boy he knew; only a scared, broken child. “What’s going on? What happened to her?” Jon opened his mouth, but the words died in his tongue – he didn’t find an explanation. He knew nothing will ever be enough for him. “Mama no,” Rhaegal looked down to his mother again, this time to her face and Jon cursed himself for not closing her eyes just in time. A sob escaped from his lips, and another, and another – till there was nothing but heartbreaking sobs coming from the boy. “Please, please… don’t leave me. Please. Mama!” He shook her body up and broke into tears when she didn’t respond; when the only response he had was her purple eyes staring up into the sky, with no life in them. “No…” he hugged her as much as he could, his raspy voice almost losing its sound as he whispered against her hair while Jon closed her eyes, “But we won. We won.”

“You won by slathering an entire city. It had to be done.”

Rhaegal was too immersed in hugging his dead mother to even hear him, his loud cries and screams were enough to echo through the place, he didn’t hear him, but Jon did. His dark eyes moved past the boy, towards the man that hid in the shadows, holding an crossbow with no arrow, for the one that was supposed to be there was still incrusted in Daenerys’ heart.

“I helped you!” Jon jumped on his feet. “You were supposed to run away and never come back, you –”

“I did what it was right! I knew you wouldn’t have it in you to do it. You love her too much.”

Rhaegal’s sobs slowed down for a moment at the much screaming; he looked confused to Jon for a few seconds before his head turned towards the other voice, finding Tyrion Lannister stepping up in the light, throwing the crossbow in front of him.

“I loved her too…” the imp dared to look into Rhaegal’s eyes as he said it. “But she lost her mind. I could have run, but no one would have stopped her. Now thousands of people still have a chance.”

Rhaegal kept his stare on the Lannister dwarf, Jon saw him gulping so hard it must have hurt him, the way his arms shook fiercer, how his chest fell and rose with speed.

“Then you killed her for nothing.”

“Rhaegal, you can’t follow your mother’s path. The innocents –”

Jon couldn’t bear it any longer. He had no right to speak to Rhaegal; he had no right to breathe his same air while Daenerys’ dead body had to lie in her son’s arms. He closed the distance between him and Tyrion in a second and punched him on the face; enough for him to fall to the floor, but he didn’t stop there.

Jon punched Tyrion again and again and again. The dwarf had betrayed him. But he’d betrayed Daenerys first; he’d helped the last Lannister escape from his cell so he’d run away and his life would be spared. He _promised_ he would just go. And in the end, what did he betray Daenerys for? Hadn’t he helped Tyrion escape, Daenerys would be alive. His betrayal cost her her life.

The ground shook under them, which made Jon come back in his thoughts and stop his fists. Tyrion’s face was covered in blood; he was passed out, for his chest still moves. He turned around to find Balerion entering the broken, devastated throne room, his head lowering down to Daenerys in Rhaegal’s arms.

He moved her with his snout once.

“She’s gone,” Jon heard Rhaegal whisper in a broken voice. The black dragon didn’t give up still and nuzzled her body once more with his snout, silently cries starting to come from him as well. “She’s never waking up. I’m so sorry…” he hugged her to him, his body starting to shake with sobs again. “Mama, I’m so sorry.”

Balerion moved away and screeched out loud in pain, wings moving along with him. Jon had to close his eyes, for the sound it’s too much; the dragon’s cries mixed with Rhaegal’s loud sobs, two sons mourning their mother. This wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“You were her last words,” Jon said to Rhaegal once Balerion’s cries slowed down. “You and her brothers. Her sons.”

Something seemed to flick in Rhaegal, for Jon could see the way his shoulders tense. His head turned back to him and Jon swallowed to almost not recognize his green eyes; they didn’t carry that spark characteristic of his… they were darker, darker than what he had ever seen in him.

“You…” for the first time, Rhaegal let go of his mother and gently left her lying on the ground, Balerion’s head moving to rest next to her. But the boy got up, gaze briefly glaring at Tyrion Lannister’s unconscious body before focusing back on him. “You said you helped him. That he was supposed to run away and never come back.” He took two steps towards him, his eyebrows slightly coming in together in realization. “What did you do, Jon?”

Jon couldn’t hold Rhaegal’s gaze. He was not worthy. He gulped and stared down at his feet instead. “I… made a mistake.”

“What mistake?” out of all the three, Rhaegal had been the closest to him. Jon taught him how to fight better, the boy would take him on rides on Meraxes; they’d fought together against the Night King on the green dragon. He’d come to care about him in these months like he was his own. “Look at me!” Rhaegal screamed. Jon watched his hands closing in fists, shaking now with rage instead of pain. He sighed and looked up to find dark, green eyes, filled with a betrayal that felt like a knife in the heart all over again. “You helped him escape. And he killed my mother. That is the mistake?” Jon was never, ever, going to forgive himself, but it was too late to regret his decision. Regretting it would not bring Daenerys back. “He said he knew you wouldn’t have it in you to do it. He was expecting you to kill her?”

“He… spoke to me in his cell. He implied she was never going to stop what she did here. That she was going to go after my sisters… I lost my mind, too.” Rhaegal’s eyes filled with horror this time; that same horror Daenerys had in her eyes when he pulled out the knife and realized what he could do to her. How stupid could he be to get manipulated like that? “I… I was going to, but I couldn’t. I could have never hurt her. I’m… I’m so sorry. I know there’s no forgiveness for what I did.”

“You could never hurt her, yet she’s dead because of you. You betrayed her,” his chin trembled, the big tears rolled down from his green eyes and with a slight shake of head he muttered, “We trusted you.” Jon could do nothing but look down, knowing that whatever death the boy had for him, he would deserve it. “Balerion.” The boy called and Jon looked up to see the dragon’s head lowering down to stand right above Rhaegal’s head.

The beast growled at him, his giant, black teeth showing off. Jon looked into Rhaegal’s eyes and saw the confliction inside them lasting for long seconds, till the eyes turned into ice, nothing like the fire they were used to. He made his mind up.

Jon closed his eyes and waited for it. He deserved it. He could only hope he was going to find Daenerys in the afterlife and he could have her forgiveness about everything he did; he hoped she’d forgive him for being too stupid to fall into monstrous thoughts, he hoped she’d forgive him for failing her once more and not being able to look out for her children.

Arya and Daenerys’ faces were the only things that crossed his mind as he heard;

“Dracarys.”

Fire illuminated the room, but not directed to him; Jon didn’t feel any burden, any heat. He opened his eyes to see Balerion breathing fire into the throne’s direction; Rhaegal didn’t move for a single moment and only kept his green stare on him as the fire behind him coming from the dragon started melting the Iron Throne.

Melted metal started to fall into the steps of the stairs. Balerion breathed and breathed fire until there was nothing but all melted metal and an empty space where the Iron Throne used to be.

“It’s not up only to me to deal with the fates of my mother’s enemies,” Rhaegal said in a low but dangerous voice; much like his mother. “But know this, Jon Snow. For you and for all those that wronged our family. You’ve killed the wrong dragon.”

Rhaegal turned and knelt in front of his mother to place a kiss on her forehead before getting up and walking towards Balerion’s back. He climbed on the dragon as Balerion moved his claws to Daenerys, lifting her up and securing her around them.

The dragon turned and Jon watched as he took flight with Rhaegal on his back and Daenerys in his claws.

Jon knew he’d come back, with the dragon and his brother. They might be only boys, but they were dragons boys, raised by none else than Daenerys Targaryen. His eyes moved down to the snowed grown tinted with blood; she wasn’t only a fierce and strong Queen, but a dutiful and dedicated mother. Her sons were everything to her. Daenerys was everything to her sons.

The Targaryens brothers were going to come back, he was sure of it. They would avenge their mother with fire and blood. And Jon wouldn’t stop them.

**I**

“You’ve called a Great Council, I take?” Drogon asked and walked further into the pit, moving past him. Rhaegal and Viserion followed their brother, not before glaring at him. He chose to follow, seeing Ser Brienne, Ser Davos and Arya saving their swords back in to see the princes moved past him. “Well, we are here now, I don’t think this is necessary, but it saves time for the announcements.”

“My princes,” Yara Greyjoy stepped forward and nodded at them. “I knew you would return to avenge Queen Daenerys’ death. But I’m afraid that wasn’t the case for most,” she gave a quick glare to Sansa standing behind Bran’s chair. “We were allies with your mother. We will continue our alliance with you, if that’s what you want as well.”

Drogon nodded in response. She extended her arm for him to take, which he did. Jon swallowed and took his time to move towards Arya and stand beside her; the only one he truly cared about besides the three boys. He kept his hand on Longclaw, knowing that if the times came, he’d have to draw it out against his own people if it was necessary for the Targaryen’s safety.

He’d failed Daenerys before. He wouldn’t fail her on her dying wish too.

Once Yara came back to her seat, everyone hesitated to take back their seats but eventually did so, only Jon stood on his both feet, next to his little sister’s chair. The three Targaryens kept their eyes on him for long seconds, long enough to make him swallow; he didn’t want to fight them. He wouldn’t fight them.

“Why are you there, Jon Snow?” Drogon was the one asking, taking a step forward to them. Jo wanted to advise him to _not_ do it right there, but the dragon’s temper was too strong in Drogon, much more than in Daenerys. Before he could even say anything, the black haired prince took out his sword, Bloodspear, making Arya jump from her seat to draw out Needle and stand in front of her brother. “Get out of the way, Stark.”

Rhaegal stepped forward, next to his brother, but didn’t take out his sword, eyes fixed on the Stark girl. “Arya. Don’t.”

Jon was grateful Rhaegal still held a small affection for his sister. Once in Winterfell, they’d practiced together many times; none of them could truly defeat the other, which did nothing but make Jon and Daenerys proud as they used to look down at them from above, much like his lord father and lady Stark had done with their children for many years. Daenerys had even commented to him, once, that she thought Rhaegal had a crush on his sister and how ironic could that be; a Targaryen prince falling for a Stark maiden all over again. And not any Targaryen prince, but the one named after Rhaegar Targaryen, and the Stark maiden that resembled Lyanna Stark the most, according to many Northerners.

But in the end, Rhaegal and Arya had fitted each other for something much more important than following his uncle and her aunt’s steps; they killed the Night King, together. After much deaths and chaos, the Night King was going to achieve his goal by killing Bran and ruling forever. Arya jumped into the Night King’s back at last minute, just as he was about to attack Bran, but the Night King took hold of her first, which gave the chance for Rhaegal to appear behind the Night King and stab him in the back with his sword Firestorm, ending him and the thousands of Wrights that he’d made, including the Wright Vhagar.

A Targaryen and a Stark ended what could have been the Long Night come again.

“He’s my brother,” Arya spat out to Rhaegal, moving her Needle to him. “You come here with your dragon, you burn the pit around, you draw your sword to Jon, and you expect us to do nothing?”

“How we were supposed to land, then?” Viserion spoke from his place, narrowing his golden eyes at the Stark girl. “With a flag of peace after our mother was murdered and all of her enemies stand here, some of them chained, some of them not,” Jon didn’t miss the way his gaze rested briefly on him, and then moved for a single second to his redhead sister. He was happy to see Viserion awake and well, it seemed the gods had exchanged a life for another, and how he stood his ground and didn’t honor the title of being the quietest one out of the Targaryen princes that had been given to him. “Your brother doesn’t belong there. He belongs with the prisoners. That’s where he’s going to be.”

Arya opened her mouth to protest, Jon took a step forward to put an end to his sister’s confrontation, for they were in their right to take him as a prisoner, but Rhaegal was ahead of him first. “You didn’t tell them, did you? You truly have lost your honor,” Jon looked into his green pools to find nothing but more disappointment in them. “Tell them how you were stupid enough to believe in Tyrion Lannister’s lies. Tell them how you betrayed my mother by helping her prisoner escape. A prisoner that later murdered her. She trusted you. She _loved_ you. And you lured her into her death.”

“You may not have been the one letting go of the arrow, Jon Snow,” Drogon kept on, a hint of pain flashing through his red eyes between all the anger and hate. “But you’re as responsible for her death as that dwarf is.”

Jon sighed and took a step forward to unsecure his belt and go walk towards GreyWorm and the Lannisters, accepting his fate. He wouldn’t explain to them that the reason he’d said nothing about his betrayal was because he knew that would put him in a cell, and he’d be of no use in a cell to protect them. It was true he’d lost his honor more than once; by betraying Daenerys first, but to honor his word to her, he had to put aside his honor to be free in case her children needed him and didn’t tell anyone of his betrayal, not even to Arya.

“No!” Arya put a hand on his chest and looked back at the Targaryen brothers in front of them. “He was manipulated by the dwarf. He didn’t know Tyrion Lannister was going to kill Queen Daenerys. Had he known, he would have never done it.” She turned towards Rhaegal, the one she’s spent time with the most. “You know Jon would never do anything to hurt your mother. You _know_ it.”

Jon looked up to the three princes but didn’t see any mercy, any pity for him – not that he pretended to, but if others were the circumstances, it’d be there. Not even in Viserion’s golden sweet eyes were any traces of pity. There was only pain of betrayal, pain of having to be forced to grow up, pain of losing what they loved most. He felt for them; three ten-and-four boys, alone, with no mother, no father, no adult figure in their lives. They had nothing but each other and a dragon. That would be much for common people, much more than they’d ever dream, yet that would never be enough for them.

Jon cleared his throat and took Arya’s face to look into her grey eyes, he’d never seen fear in his sister’s eyes before, but it was there now. For him. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Drogon lowered Bloodspear and only glared as Jon took off his belt and let it fall on the ground, Longclaw hitting against the ground. Grey Worm approached to take him by his arm and placed him near the Lannisters, but closest to Viserion when the blonde prince only moved his hand to let the unsullied know that was enough. He was grateful he was not standing next to the three lions; he knew he deserved the punishment, but he wouldn’t tolerate to be near them. Not even for a single second.

“You can’t hurt him,” Jon was surprised to see Sansa coming forward. Though the surprise didn’t last much; she might be stepping up for him because she cared about him, or because she cared about throwing the Targaryen brothers from power. He didn’t forget what her words were minutes before. “If you touch a single hair of Jon’s head, there are thousands of Northerners out there ready to fight for him.”

“And here I thought that your tongue was cut,” Drogon replied to her, red eyes glaring her up and down. “You should keep it in your mouth, silent and stop speaking too much shit with it. Or perhaps it should be cut, since you don’t know how to use it.”

Ser Brienne was the first to rise from her seat to draw her sword out in protection of Sansa. Arya was the second one, though she wasn’t as fast as she was for Jon. Ser Davos locked eyes with him, seeking for his approval, but Jon merely shook his head as an answer, and the old man stood in his place, with his sword saved.

Viserion frowned at the pair with the swords out. “Must I remind you you’re in front of your new King? What you’re doing by drawing your weapons to him, is treason.”

“He can’t be King,” Sansa dared to press on, being bold by stepping forward and closer to the boy, or being so sure Ser Brienne would have her back. “You’re all too young. You don’t know anything about ruling –”

“And you do?” Rhaegal asked her. “What did you think, Sansa? That we were never going to come back to avenge our mother? That you could say whatever things you wanted about her, without consequences? She risked her life for the North. She risked her armies. She risked her dragons. Yet you didn’t trust her.”

Jon could see her arching an eyebrow to the boy’s way. “And that is treason? You’re a child. The three of you. You can’t consider someone a traitor just because they didn’t like your _pretty_ mother,” Jon swallowed and clenched his jaw. She was playing with fire… and she was going to burn because of it if she kept it on.

“Sansa.” He decided to intervene before his sister fell to her death.

“No, Jon. They have to hear it,” her blue eyes looked back at the three boys. “Your mother was no saint. She burned King’s Landing to the ground. She was a tyrant. She didn’t care about her –”

An arrow flew right past Sansa’s cheek, close enough to leave a scratch on it, a thin line of blood marking her pale skin. It caught her off guard and the gasps could be heard all around. Everyone turned to Viserion, who had his bow up and was already placing a new arrow on his bow.

“I dare you to keep going on about my mother,” Jon had always known Viserion to be the quietest one, but he was a dragon none less. Dany had told him Viserion could lose his temper too, much if someone was threatening or attacking his family. Jon knew his aim never missed, which could only mean that arrow was a warning. “Do it.”

Ser Brienne was ready to throw herself to Drogon, probably to try to disarm him at least, but Jon wouldn’t have it; he was going to stand between the boys and his people, but Balerion roared behind them; the sound makes the ground shake and the winds caused by it threw Ser Brienne and his sisters back a bit, the sticks glued to the ground shaking a bit with it.

Yara Greyjoy and the prince of Dorne took out their swords to stand next to the Targaryens, but Jon knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop the upcoming fight. Drogon only needed to say the word and everyone would be burned alive in here; Sansa had to stop playing with the boys’ patience. So he did what he knows it was right; Jon was quick to move to the ground and took Longclaw, to take it out and point it to Ser Brienne’s direction.

“Jon!” Arya screamed, in surprise and anger. “What are you doing?!”

“You put your swords down. Now.”

“We don’t need you defending us,” Drogon angrily said behind him. “Get out of the way, Snow!”

“I promised to your mother that I would watch out for you. That’s what she wanted.” He told the three of them, without lowering his sword and keeping an eye on Brienne in front of him. “That’s why I didn’t say anything about my betrayal,” he wasn’t planning on telling them, but they needed to understand how far he was willing to go to keep his words to their mother. “I can’t protect you if I’m in a cell.”

“We don’t need you!” Drogon continued on, anger scaling inside him. “I don’t care what your stupid conscience tells you –”

“It’s not my conscience. It’s what your mother wanted,” Jon repeated and got a clear sight of Rhaegal and Viserion’s faces; they were a bit surprised and looking at each other for that. “She didn’t let go until I gave her my word I’d look out for you. I failed her once. I’m not failing her again. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

Everyone felt silent around. Arya’s eyes were widening in surprise and confusion at his action, and Jon could only hope that she’d understand. He had to be true to his word; this was his only purpose on life right now. Protecting and looking out for Daenerys’ children, try to guide them in this twisted and dangerous game.

“You’re still a prisoner,” Drogon spoke up again behind him.

“I am, but I won’t move till the guard is down. Arya,” he called for his sister and begged for her to listen to him. He wouldn’t ever fight _her_ , but he wouldn’t be able to do anything if the dragon behind them started breathing fire on them. “Put the sword down.”

“We are your family,” she frowned in pain, Needle slightly shaking because of her hand. “She’s our sister, Jon. You can’t choose them over us.”

“This isn’t about choosing. It shouldn’t be. She can’t talk like that about our deceased Queen. I’m not choosing them over _you_. You’re true to your word, as I am, Arya. I promised Daenerys something on her last breath. I will _not_ break that promise. If you have any love for me as my sister… put the sword down,” Arya seemed conflicted by it, her finger tightening around Needle, grey eyes quickly glancing over to Sansa, who had blue eyes pierced into her. He knew she was biting the inside of her cheek in nervousness. He could hear the black beast moving only a few meters from them. “Arya. Please.”

His lips let out a relieved sigh when Arya put the sword down. Jon eyed the heads of the other houses; Lord Tully and Lord Arryn, Sansa’s family, were on their feet, with their swords drawn and starting to gather around the Stark redhead. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Put your swords down,” Rhaegal warned them, drawing out his own Firestorm. “We’re not here to hurt innocents. Only the ones that wronged our mother. But if you all drag yourself into this… there will be no coming back.”

“Enough of threats,” Jon had to side eye the boy that said this, because he could have expected it from Drogon, but it was Viserion instead. “You want to witness what happens to our enemies? We will show you.”

He walked away as his brothers follow him. Jon, sword still up, moved a bit to have sight to where they were going. It was the Lannisters. Viserion went to stand in front of Cersei, Rhaegal in front of Jaime and Drogon in front of Tyrion. The Lannister twins kept their heads up, but the dwarf didn’t dare to look up, only stared at the black haired prince – King’s feet.

“I beg you,” Jaime swallowed, looking straight into Rhaegal’s eyes. “She’s with child. Spare her life. I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. We’re to blame… but our unborn baby is innocent. Your mother…”

“Do not speak about my mother,” Rhaegal interrupted him between clenched teeth. “Would have she spared my mother’s life is she was with child? Did Robert Baratheon spare my mother’s life when he sent assassins for her because we were in her womb? Did your father, the great Tywin Lannister, spare my cousins’ lives when they were just a child and a babe? Rhaenys was stabbed to death. Aegon’s head was crushed against a wall. I don’t understand your family’s sense of justice, Kingslayer…” he turned towards them, eyes narrowing. “If our house does it, we’re mad. But if your house does it, you’re heroes?”

Jaime swallowed at that and tried one more time. “We’re not responsible for our father’s actions…”

“Neither was our mother,” Viserion almost growled at him. “And yet everyone was ready to think of her as mad, just because she felt human emotions. People took and took of her and she was met by nothing but rejection… and betrayal.” His gaze moved towards the woman in front of him, looking at him with her hateful, green eyes. “You betrayed her first. They brought you a wright; you gave your word you’d send your army to the North to help in the Great War. But you lied. My dragon, Vhagar, died so that wright could be here… for _you_. In the end, he died for nothing.”

“One less monstrous in the world,” Cersei dared to laugh. Jon swallowed; she was pure madness. “People should be thanking me.”

Rhaegal was the one that slapped her face so hard Jon could see a bloodline falling from her mouth. There was no salvation for Cersei Lannister, child or not. The only one that Jon wasn’t sure could come out alive, was Jaime. But he’d come to King’s Landing to die with his sister, he wasn’t sure he was going to last much without her.

“Your whore of a mother would be proud…” Cersei smiled and spat out the blood to the ground. “My little brother was truly stupid. He shouldn’t have just only killed your mother. He should have whipped out all of you.”

Jon saw the three Targaryens exchange glances between them until Viserion looked back at Cersei and nodded.

“Yes. He should have.”

Both Viserion and Rhaegal take Cersei and Jaime by their back of their necks and dragged them away, towards the black, giant dragon in the back. Jon knew what was to come; he’d witnessed it with Daenerys and Varys before. This was the Targaryen’s way.

“No, not Jaime!” Tyrion screamed in despair and got up, only for legs to be hit by Grey Worm’s spear to make him kneel again. “Jaime did nothing wrong! You can spare him, use him as hostage! He didn’t do anything!”

“Do you feel it, Lord Tyrion?” Drogon asked him after being awfully silent, eyeing him carefully. “Do you feel that burning inside you for losing the most important person in your life? It hurts, isn’t it?”

Jon looked behind him to see Ser Brienne slowly lowering her weapon, tears gathering in her blue eyes at the sight. Drogon walked away, towards the Lannister twins and his brothers, and stands in the middle of Rhaegal and Viserion, looking down at the pair that was hugging each other as they held their stare on the other.

“Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister… I, Drogon of House Targaryen, First of My Name, the Fireborn and Brother of Dragons, sentence you to die…” no one dared to move a muscle, no one dared to even breathe as they heard the word, “Dracarys.”

Balerion spat out fire in front of him and onto the Lannisters. Tyrion screamed out loud with all he had as the three Targaryens looked down at the bright flames in front of them for mere seconds before Drogon was the first to walk back towards the center of the pit, not before moving his hand slightly for Grey Worm to take Tyrion away; the flames that Balerion created around the pit and that blocked all the ways out had deceased, leaving only tiny flames in its place.

If that was the Lannisters’ fate, Jon wondered what they had in mind for Tyrion… and for him. Viserion, Rhaegal and Drogon stood back in the center of the reunion; Lord Tully and Lord Arryn had already lowered their swords, only Brienne, despite the tears blurring her vision, kept the sword up.

“That is what happens to our enemies… to say the least,” Drogon told them. “I am fit to rule, because I am my mother’s heir. Daeron Targaryen, the First of His Name, was only fourteen when he ascended the throne. He ruled as King. I will do the same, not because I want to, but because my mother hadn’t fought all these years for this crown to be thrown away into hands that don’t deserve it. The Seven Kingdoms belong to the Targaryens. My mother took it back and we will keep it…” his eyes moved to Jon this time as he arched an eyebrow. “You’re a prisoner, Jon Snow. Your sister wants to rebel against it… against the Crown. Do you have anything to say?”

Jon took his clue to take a deep breath and look at her redhead sister. “Do not rebel against this decision, Sansa. They have every right to punish me. Daenerys…” his throat closed to her name, the last image of her stuck in his mind. “Daenerys would be alive if it weren’t for me. I betrayed her. That betrayal needs to be paid.”

“You heard you brother,” Drogon nodded. Jon could see he was taking satisfaction from somewhere of all this; but he didn’t know why. “You’re the new Warden of the North, Lady Stark.”

“No.” Sansa declared firmly, shaking her head. “I am no Warden of yours. I will never be. If anything, I’m the new Queen of the North…” Arya snapped her head to her as Jon did, but it was him Sansa focused on. “I’m sorry, Jon, but you don’t deserve this. We will fight for you.”

Drogon laughed, gaining everyone’s attention. It was not a genuine laugh, but a cynical one. “I knew you’d say that. I was expecting you to refuse my offer. Now I have the perfect excuse for a war against the North… for rebelling.”

Rhaegal shook his head, “You think you’re so smart, Sansa, but you’re predictable. You’ll doom all of your people for your seek of power, not because you want to save your brother. This is all you’ve ever wanted, is it not? Queen in the North.”

“Just so you see,” Drogon lifted a finger, a smirk curving his lips. “We will give you this advantage. We won’t use Balerion in battle. We don’t need him to destroy you… and I want to enjoy killing every one of the Northerners that have done nothing but reject my mother, when she gave _everything_ for that stupid North.” His smirk disappeared as his red eyes stayed on Sansa and only Sansa. “And I will enjoy when I get through everyone and everything and I meet you in the end. I won’t have you burned alive. I won’t have you beheaded. I will have your tongue in my hand for all the times you spoke badly of my mother.”

Jon got chills of only imagining that picture. He knew whatever he said it’d fall on deaf ears, but he had to try; they were just boys… boys in need of vengeance, in need of letting out all the rage and hurt they had inside. Boys leading a war never ended well.

“A war that can be prevented is not the answer. It brings endless and unnecessary blood.”

“This isn’t a war that can be prevented,” Rhaegal answered him instead. “Don’t you see it? The only way this could have been prevented was if your people treated us with respect. If your sister didn’t take the first chance she had to overthrow my mother. You and your people cast us aside just because we weren’t of your pack. You brought this upon yourselves.”

“War won’t bring your mother back,” they all turned their heads to Bran’s direction. The ever quiet Bran. He stared emotionless to the three boys in front of him, focusing on only Drogon for a moment. “This won’t make her forgive you for rejecting her.”

Drogon’s fingers gripped around his sword and Jon knew he had to contain himself from jumping on Bran and cutting his flesh. “No, it won’t,” he replied instead, in a dangerous, quiet voice. “But it will avenge her. That’s enough for me.”

The new boy King turned around and walked away, towards Balerion. Jon dropped his sword to the ground and let out a much heavy sigh he was holding back. Rhaegal only glared with a painful gaze from him to the sword before following his brother, Viserion too immersed on his stare on Bran for long seconds before going after his brothers.

He didn’t have time to say any goodbyes to Arya that he was being pulled away from them by Grey Worm. Rhaegal said something to Grey Worm in Valyrian, but he only caught sound of Viserion asking Drogon;

“Who was that?”

“Brandon Stark. He’s said to be the Three Eyed Raven. He sees past, present and future. That’s how he knew.”

“His voice sounds familiar… but I’ve never met him.”

Grey Worm took Jon away as a few of the Unsullied surrendered Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion as they stood next to Balerion and spoke to each other. Jon did nothing but sigh and not resist as he was lead to the dungeons.

**II**

Jon was sure he was going to lose his mind.

He’d been in the dungeons for… four nights, if he remembered correctly. He hadn’t had news about anything from the outside; he didn’t know how the Targaryen boys were, he didn’t know if they’d attacked Winterfell and won, he knew for sure the North hadn’t attacked King’s Landing or that they’d won, otherwise Arya would have come to get him.

He wasn’t sure he was okay with either way. The North winning could mean the boys’ deaths… Daenerys’ legacy. But the Targaryens winning, could mean his family’s end.

He closed his eyes and tried to shake those thoughts off; they’d been trying to eat his mind from the inside. He dreamt of Arya being burned alive. He dreamt of Rhaegal being stabbed by Arya. He dreamt of Daenerys’ body bleeding out to death in his arms. He’d given up on trying to get some sleep in the past nights… and now he couldn’t stop thinking about all the possibilities that could be happening outside in the world.

Was Tyrion already dead? What were the Targaryen brothers going to do with him?

The desperation lasted and lasted, until Grey Worm came to get him one day. Jon knew if he was here, it meant the battle hadn’t been done yet – or perhaps they’d won. Still, he didn’t ask anything as he followed the Unsullied into the castle. They reached a chamber with big doors, and the man threw him inside after he opened the door.

It was a royal chamber. Grey Worm closed the door right behind him as Jon stared around, his eyes falling on the boy sitting in front of the fireplace, in the large couch in front of it. His hair was pale-blonde; Viserion. Jon took careful steps towards him, not having a single idea what all this was about.

“What was she like?” Jon frowned at the question, taken back by that. He didn’t know what to respond, so he stayed silent, until Viserion’s head turned to his way; his golden eyes weren’t cold or stern like they were used to be days ago… they were crystal and watery. “In her final moments. Was she scared?”

Jon took his time to answer, knowing it’d hurt them both to hear it. “Yes,” he started to walk around the single couch. He wasn’t sure he could sit by his side, but the boy didn’t protest at his approach. “She was scared of me. I didn’t mean to. Tyrion made me think she was going to hurt my sisters for not accepting her as Queen… and I stupidly believed him. I pulled out a dagger…” he could be pushing closer the days for his execution with this information, but he couldn’t care anymore. His days were probably numbered by now. And Viserion deserved the truth. “But I couldn’t do it. I begged her to not hurt anyone else… but she was scared of me. I didn’t get to tell her I wouldn’t hurt her because… an arrow pierced right through her chest.”

He looked up to watch Viserion’s profile as he stood in the corner of the couch. The boy had his golden eyes fixed on the fire, but the tears rolled down his pale cheeks. He did resemble Daenerys the most in looks, except for the purple eyes… but there was always a spark inside them that he’d find in Daenerys, when she smiled around her children, when she laughed with them. He’d later see that same spark with him, though it was never the same after Vhagar died and Viserion fell into a coma.

Daenerys was never the same after Viserion’s coma… it was like a part of her soul was trapped with the boy.

“She missed you… so much,” Jon told him. He didn’t know if his brothers ever told him this since he woke up; they probably didn’t, for the pain would be too flesh for them. But someone had to tell him how much she cared about him. “She’d have many nightmares at night… about losing you. She never smiled or laughed the same without you.”

Viserion blinked and eyed him, giving him a nod of head towards the couch. Jon sat in the corner of it, much away from him… but it was still something, a small step for him.

“I could hear her every time she spoke to me. I could hear my brothers once in a while… but I heard her every time she was there. I wanted to wake up so badly…” he wiped off the teardrops from his cheeks but they kept coming all the same. “But I couldn’t. If I was there… had I woken up earlier, nothing of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have left her alone. I would have talked sense in her. She always listened to me. She’d be here.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Jon sighed out and followed his gaze, into the fire. “There’s only two people to blame. And I assure you, you’re not one of them.”

“We all have our demons… we all did it, Jon.” Jon looked back at him, frowning. “I believe you when you say you didn’t mean it. I would have never doubted of her, the thought of hurting her would have never crossed my mind… but you didn’t know her. Not really. None of you did. You all just held on to a part of our family, a part of hers as well… and never let room for another.” Jon shook his head lightly; he’d seen the best parts of her… and he was stupid enough to believe that the worst parts of her would take over her. He should have just spoken to her. He should have been there with her when her world fell apart. “Is it true? What they all say? She burned King’s Landing down?”

Jon blinked at the images of fire and smoke and burned people flashing through his mind. “Part of it. She went mostly for the Red Keep… but she did some damage before… on the common folk.”

“That wasn’t her,” Viserion shook his head in denial and threw the glass he was holding into the fire. “She could have lost her mind… but she was going to come back from it. With Rhaegal safe back with her. With Drogon. With me when I woke up. She was good, Jon. The best person I’ve ever known… and we all killed her. Rhaegal should have been with her in that throne room. Drogon shouldn’t have rejected her. I should have woken up earlier. You should have trusted her.”

“There are many things we could have done…” Jon agreed with him. “There’s no point in poisoning yourself with those thoughts. Believe me, I know.”

“Why did she trust you with taking care of us?” He looked at him finally, eyes narrowing in confusion. “She must have still trusted in you to do that. She would never leave us in a stranger or a traitor’s hands.”

“I think…” Jon swallowed to remember Dany’s desperate hold on him, begging him with her purple eyes to promise it. “I think she knew the only way for her to forgive me was that I gave my word that I’d watch out for you three… since she wouldn’t be there.”

“Do you think… she forgave you?”

Jon thought of the answer to that. He didn’t believe she did; she could only forgive him once he had truly accomplished his promise. But he could show her he wouldn’t ever let her down on that; her three boys would be above all for him, very much like they were for her.

“That’s… something I would like to ask her once I see her again.”

“We’re not sure we’re going to kill you…” Viserion confessed to him, looking back at the fire in front of them. “We’re not sure what to do with you yet. Our mother trusted you with our lives. If what you say is true… we shouldn’t break her dying wish. But you betrayed her. We cannot ignore that.”

“I know.”

Viserion’s eyes were lost in the flames again, the water starting to gather in them once more. He gulped and lets out a small sigh.

“I miss her.”

Jon could do nothing but imitate his sigh, imagining how happy she would be to see her son awake and well. With his love for her intact as always.

“Me too.”

The door suddenly opened and Jon almost jumped to it. Drogon and Rhaegal walked inside, their chests falling and rising with speed. He got on his feet to see them; the same anger reflected in Drogon’s red eyes and the same pain showed in Rhaegal’s green ones.

“We have to go now.”

Jon frowned confused. “What?”

Rhaegal focused on his blonde brother, starting to stand up from the couch. “Did you not tell him?”

Viserion sighed as he went to the corner of the room to secure his belt, with his sword on it. “Not yet.”

Jon looked back and forth between the three brothers, seeing how the frustration started to show in Drogon’s gaze. “Tell me what?”

“You’re coming to Dragonstone… with us.” Viserion explained to him, heading towards his brothers to stand next to his brother King. “We need you for something.”

“I wish we didn’t,” Drogon spat out, cold and short. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“It requires of all the Targaryens…” Viserion continued, ignoring his brother’s words. “That includes you. Whether we like it or not.”

Jon didn’t have a clue of what they were trying to tell him. “What requires of all the Targaryens?”

Rhaegal threw him a pile of clothes and nodded towards him. “We’re going to bring our mother back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _PS: Sorry to change the time of the writing but I just feel more comfortable in the past writing. Also, since this was from Jon's POV, some things couldn't be known through him, but hopefully next chapter will answer questions that this chapter could have created._
> 
> _Please, comment on what you think if you'd like. Reviews are always appreaciated :)_


	4. Fire and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello!_
> 
> _Sooooooooooooo sorry for the delay. Can’t have enough  ‘o’ to tell you how sorry I am. I was so blocked with the words, it was so frustrating. I had this chapter finished a week ago, but was waiting to have the next one half-written so I could be sure I wouldn’t be delaying another two months in updating._
> 
> _I took your recommendations and moderated the comments for the very dedicated haters. They shouldn’t come up again because who even reads something that they dislike so much? Anyway… I wanted to say a **big thank you** to those that left me positive comments to keep going with this fic. You have no idea how much they meant to me. Thank you so much._
> 
> _In case anyone is a bit lost of what’s happened, here goes a summary:_
> 
>   * _Daenerys was murdered by Tyrion but Jon helped him escape in the first place, not knowing he was going to murder Dany in the end. Rhaegal found Dany’s body first; Jon confessed all this to him so he’s considered a traitor. Viserion wakes up from his coma just as Dany dies. Drogon becomes King after Dany. Jon’s first priority now is protecting and looking out for the Targaryen boys because that’s what Dany made him promise on her last breath._
>   * _Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion have kept Dany’s body protected in a cave on Dragonstone full of dragon glass and are out to revenge their mother’s death in King’s Landing. They burned the Lannisters twins alive, had Tyrion as prisoner, took Jon as prisoner too and have declared war on the North (the Starks, but Sansa, mainly) for rebelling against House Targaryen and declaring themselves independent._
>   * _Previous chapter ended with Jon getting out of his cell and Rhaegal, Drogon and Viserion telling him they needed him for a job that requires all the Targaryens: bringing Daenerys back._
> 


**4**

**FIRE AND BLOOD**

_“If you gathered us here for what happened earlier, I am not going to apologize. That wilding needs to know his place. We’ve risked our armies, our dragons, because of this place… and they dare to disrespect us like that, I will not –”_

_“Drogon,” his mother cut him off by turning around to greet him and his brother. She’d summoned them to her chambers, which could only mean she had something to tell them, and after his attitude at dinner against the Northerners and the wildings praising all about Jon riding a dragon like they weren’t right there. He knew his cheeks to be red again from the anger to only remember that. “I didn’t call for you both to reprimand you about what happened earlier. I wasn’t very happy to hear about all that, too.”_

_“He climbed on a fucking dragon and fought!” the wildling, Tormund, had screamed with arrogance. “What kind of a person climbs on a fucking dragon? A madman… or a King!”_

_Drogon had had enough of that. He didn’t care Jon turned to seek for his mother’s approval with his eyes and she raised her cup of wine to him. The black-haired boy only glared at them both and stood up with enough fierce to make the chair behind him stumble and silence everyone in the room._

_“That’s funny,” Drogon had said between clenched teeth, knowing fully well the pleading that had to be in his mother’s eyes for him to sit down and shut his mouth for the sake of their alliance to the North, like he’d been trying to do for the past days just because she’d asked him to. But there was only much he’d tolerate. “Considering he’s nothing of that. Not a madman, I think. And certainly, not a King.”_

_Jon changed his posture from the relaxed one he was having and instead straightened it, growing serious from all the sudden. Like he should have done before. “He didn’t mean –”_

_“Yes he did. And you let him,” his red eyes only glared at him before focusing back on the redhead wilding behind him and all the ones gathered around him, long gone was the amusement from all their faces. “Anyone can climb a dragon, only… **if only** a Targaryen is riding it. Like Jon did, because my brother was riding Meraxes, the fucking dragon. Not him.”_

_He’d turned around and left the room after that, thinking he’d find Rhaegal in their chambers, but he had to be somewhere else… probably speaking with the Stark girl, Arya. He’d found him later right outside their mother’s chambers, when she’d summoned for both of them._

_Rhaegal turned to him, a frown between his eyebrows. “What did you say?”_

_“It doesn’t matter now,” their mother answered for him. “There’s something… more important I have to discuss with you. Something you have to know. Sit.”_

_Drogon and Rhaegal looked at each other in confusion for the seriousness of her words but did as they were told. They took the only two seats in the room, in front of the fireplace and waited for her, only seeing her back, feeling the nervousness coming off of her._

_“What is it, mother?” Rhaegal couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Something happened with Viserion?”_

_Drogon frowned, knowing what the answer had to be, for he didn’t feel anything different, and he was sure neither did Rhaegal, but he had to sense her nervousness as well, and as his brother, Drogon didn’t understand where it was coming from if not for Viserion._

_“No.” She turned around quickly at that. “There are no bad or good news about your brother. This isn’t about him.” It was rare the times Drogon got to see her mother nervous; her hands were together in front of her, but her fingers kept playing with each other. Something was wrong. “This is something I wanted to keep you from at first… to protect you. So you wouldn’t bear the burden of knowing it… but I will not have other people knowing and not you. It is your right.” Rhaegal side eyed him, as did Drogon, not understanding a thing of what all this was about. “This is about Jon.”_

_His mother stayed silent once again, which made Drogon nervous; an only thought crossing his mind at this point if she was so conflicted about telling them something that was about Jon Snow._

_Drogon arched an eyebrow, ready to ask the question, but Rhaegal was ahead of him. “Are you going to marry him? Is that it?”_

_Their mother looked a bit surprised at that, staring at them both with her purple eyes widening a bit. Then, for a moment, they grew with sadness, and her gaze drifted to the ground._

_“No,” Drogon saw the way she swallowed at that, like it hurt her to even say it. She looked up at them once again and took a deep breath to keep going. “Jon told me about his true parentage. He found out about it only a few days… and told me right before the battle began. He’s not a Stark… he’s not Eddard Stark’s son. He took him in as a bastard to protect him from Robert Baratheon because he would have killed him if he knew…” she gulped and continued. “If he knew he was Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.”_

_Rhaegal reacted to it first and quickly. “He’s what?”_

_“Their son. Their trueborn son. Rhaegar never raped Lyanna, never hurt her. They were in love and they married each other in secret… and they had a son. Aegon Targaryen. Jon is a Targaryen.”_

Drogon kept walking, side eying Jon from time to time as they made their way up to the cave. His red eyes inspected his hands; they were free, but he carried no weapon. Rhaegal and Viserion still trusted him enough to think he wouldn’t hurt them as they flew on Balerion up to Dragonstone. His blonde brother was the one to trust him the most and Drogon knew that deep down, Rhaegal wanted to trust him again, but the betrayal was still too flesh.

He, however, didn’t trust him in the slightest. He didn’t even want to try. Jon was there only because he had to, because they had no other choice on the matter.

But before they entered the cave, Jon stopped on his tracks and stood his ground.

“Can you tell me what is going on? You haven’t explained anything to me, I –”

“We owe you no explanation,” Drogon answered right away, not liking the tone of his voice or that he thought they owed him anything. “You’re still a prisoner, Jon Snow.”

“We need you to bring our mother back,” Rhaegal said this time, narrowing his eyes at him. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

Jon held his gaze and after a couple of seconds, drew a long breath. “If you’re taking me to my death to bring her back, I just would like to know it.”

Drogon exchanged glances with both his brothers before looking back at him. There he stood, the great Jon Snow, the former King in the North, with no armies and no weapons, thinking they were luring him to his death to bring their mother back.

“Would you do it?” he carefully asked him, trying to decipher any emotion crossing his face. If he was scared, angry, disgusted… or ready to fight against it. “Would you exchange your life for hers?”

Jon didn’t answer quickly; instead his dark eyes darted between the three of them, staying on Rhaegal for a bit longer than him and Viserion. Still, it was him who he looked when he opened his mouth, staring right into his eyes as he replied;

“Yes.”

Drogon frowned, holding his gaze, waiting for the lie to show through his eyes. But there was nothing of it; Jon didn’t blink, didn’t break his stare from him, wanting to show his determination and sincerity.

“Luckily for you, that’s not happening,” Viserion broke the silence that was only filled by the sound of the waves crashing against each other in the sea. “And even if it was a possibility… we wouldn’t do it. That’s not us.”

Drogon looked at Jon up and down before glancing over to Viserion and correcting him, “That’s not _you_.”

As he turned around to keep walking towards the cave, Drogon caught sight of Rhaegal glaring at Jon before following him. He knew his brother thought the same thing as him; Viserion spoke for the three of them when in truth, that was only him. But Drogon also knew that Rhaegal was deeply hurt by Jon’s betrayal, much more than him; he’d be acting out of pain… and would later regret it.

He, on the other hand, doubted about the regret.

Drogon walked inside the cave but stopped to see the familiar place they’d built for their mother; there she lied, looking as beautiful as they’d last seen her, days ago, on the large stone made by dragon glass. Her long, silver hair falling on her shoulders, her hands folded up on her stomach. Her pale skin looked as if it was shining by the three large flames that surrounded her, guarding her and keeping her warm.

Soon the boy King felt the presence of his brothers at his side, with their eyes fixed on their mother only a few feet from them. They didn’t make a sound… only Jon’s gasp was heard in the place, followed by his whisper;

“Dany.”

Jon appeared at Rhaegal’s side, Drogon turned his head to look at him, to see the way his grey eyes watered, how wide they grew, his hand going up as if by instinct to reach out for her, his feet moving forward to walk closer to her… hadn’t Rhaegal been faster and stopped him before he could even touch the coffin.

“Stay away.”

“How…” Jon swallowed hard and took his time to turn to them, walking away from Rhaegal to get rid of his grip, but not daring to get closer to their mother’s body. “How did you do this? How does she look the same? It’s been… days.”

“Magic,” a female voice said behind them.

The Targaryens, all of them, turned to the voice. Drogon saw a woman walking out of the shadows in a dark, red dress. She had clear, light eyes and long, black hair falling at her sides, contrasting against her pale skin. There was sternness to her features that slowly softened for a bit moment as her gaze dared around between the four of them.

“You are Kinvara, the Red Priestess…” Viserion spoke up, taking a step closer to the woman. “You were back in Meeren… you met with Tyrion Lannister and Varys instead of us. They said we shouldn’t deal with silly things such as magic and priestesses…”

“I’m sure they did,” Kinvara nodded and stepped closer to Viserion, her hands reaching out to cup his face, a small smirk curving her lips. “And I didn’t insist in meeting you, because I knew this day would come… sooner rather than later. The three heads of the dragon,” she let go of Viserion and reached out to touch Drogon’s chin, but he moved away, still not fully trusting her. Nonetheless, she smiled to his reaction and moved her eyes behind him, towards Rhaegal, Jon and his mother lying on the stone, in particular. “And the princess and prince that were promised.”

“Another Red Priestess once spoke of that… prophecy to our mother,” Rhaegal told the woman, narrowing his green eyes at her. “It didn’t have to be the _prince_ that was promised, but a princess as well. Are you saying –”

“I am,” Kinvara nodded slowly but firmly. “Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen are the princess and prince that were promised. Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion Targaryen are the three heads of the dragon. The world needs you – all five of you. That is why I am here… because the four of you are no use, alone, for what’s to come. Four parts are not strong enough, that’s been proved before.”

Drogon didn’t understand half the things she was trying to tell them, but he focused on one; on the only one that mattered to him.

“Can you bring our mother back or not?”

“She can,” Jon answered for her, nodding his head, some realization starting to sink in on his features. “Melisandre, another servant of the Lord of Light, brought me back.”

Drogon frowned in confusion, seeing the same surprise on his brothers. They knew about the knife to the heart Jon had taken from their brothers at the Night’s Watch; they betrayed him, but he never said anything about dying because of it. The three of them had assumed he survived… because he was standing right there, as if nothing of that had happened to him.

Viserion cleared his throat, arching an eyebrow in still shock. “You were… dead?”

Jon gave a simple nod of head. “For a couple of hours… and I was brought back. By the same Red Priestess that told your mother about that prophecy.”

“If you were brought back because you were the prince that was promised…” Rhaegal started telling his thought out loud. “Then she can come back from it, too. She’s the princess that was promised. Whatever that means.”

“Enough of prophecies,” Drogon concluded, his patience running thick. “Just get it over with and bring her back.”

Kinvara smiled to him and nodded, starting to walk forward, towards Daenerys. She stood in front of her and watched carefully, giving her back to them.

“I need this coffin off of her… and the dragon’s eggs around her. She’ll need all the magic possible.”

Jon turned to the three of them, a confused frown on face. “Dragon’s eggs?”

None of them answered and did as she asked. Viserion went to a corner of the cave to take three dragons eggs from the shadows as Rhaegal and Drogon approached to their mother and were careful to lift the coffin made with part of dragon glass off of Daenerys. Kinvara moved away from it and gave a nod to the boys, who took the clue to place the dragon’s eggs on their mother.

Drogon took the dark red one and placed it next to Daenerys’ head, above her right shoulder. Rhaegal tucked the light bronze one under her left arm and Viserion wrapped the pale blue one between her hands.

“All of them.”

Rhaegal looked at Kinvara. “That’s all of them.”

Kinvara arched an eyebrow, eyes fixed on Daenerys, and turned towards the wall that Rhaegal had broken days before. She knelt in front of it and reached out inside the hole that was still there. Once she stood back on her feet, she turned towards Jon’s direction, with a dark grey dragon egg on her hands, and offered it to him.

Drogon felt the anger running through his veins. “He’s not a dragon.”

“Not like you, no,” Kinvara agreed, with her gaze focused on Jon in front of her, still waiting for him to take the dragon egg. “But he is a dragon, nonetheless. It is his right. His fate.”

The confliction was evident on Jon’s face. He turned towards them, and if Drogon didn’t know any better, he’d say he didn’t feel worthy of taking the dragon egg. But he swallowed hard and took it from the Red Priestess’ hands in the end, turning towards Daenerys in silent and slow steps.

Once he was in front of her, he stared and stared at her face, and Drogon saw the way his hands were merely shaking, teardrops falling from his eyes onto his mother’s hand.

_“Is it true what they say?” Drogon had asked his mother on one of the nights of their trip to Winterfell. It was night and they were right outside of the back of their tent; Jon and Rhaegal a few feet from them practicing sword fighting. The Warden of the North was sure that once they got to Winterfell it wouldn’t last many days for the Great War to begin and they had to be truly ready. “About you and Jon.”_

_Daenerys snapped her head towards him, purple eyes narrowing. “Who told you that?”_

_“It’s true, isn’t it?” He evaded the question; no one had told him. He’d heard the rumors and he knew they weren’t just that; he wasn’t a little child anymore. He noticed they disappeared together at the same time, he saw the way they looked at each other. Only a fool would be blind to it. He just hoped his mother wouldn’t take him as one just because she wanted to keep it from them. “We’re not little children anymore, mother. We see.”_

_His mother fell silent, her eyes staying on the man they were talking about and his brother, training together. “It’s true.”_

_Drogon pressed his lips together. Deep down, he wished it to be false. He knew Jon Snow to be different; he was old enough to know what Daario Naharis was to his mother back then, why he carried that arrogance around other men, why he wanted to be close to them and failed miserably at it. Jon wasn’t any of that._

_Jon had grown close to Rhaegal long before he’d look at his mother with shinning eyes. Jon gained Viserion’s trust before his mother gifted him smiles and laughs. Jon earned his respect before he and his mother would share knowing looks and little smirks._

_Jon was a good man. Drogon knew that. Despite that he held a little bit of resentment towards him for what happened with Vhagar and Viserion. He led them to that, but that plan wasn’t only his._

_He was a good man, it was true. But that wasn’t enough for him to fully trust him with his mother or his brothers._

_“You trust me, do you not, sweetling?” Drogon hated that word. It sounded stupid. But coming from his mother, he’d always embrace it. She searched for his hand and took it, her gentle purple eyes boring into his red ones. He didn’t need to answer that, she already knew it. “You don’t have to worry about him. I love him. And he loves me.”_

Jon moving brought the young King back to the present. He moved towards his mother’s feet and placed his dragon egg in front of them, but Drogon felt something in the back of his neck as his mother’s smile for Jon Snow flashed through his mind, the sincerity and gentleness in her purple eyes as she told him;

_“I love him. And he loves me.”_

That did nothing but increase Drogon’s hatred for that man… but it was true.

“No,” Drogon spoke before he’d regret it. “Put it on her left shoulder.”

The boy King knew Jon looked at him in confusion, but he kept his gaze on his mother, knowing this was her doing, even from the afterlife; she still managed to have a connection with him… that was why Jon Snow still lived. His brothers made him have very present the promise he made to their mother on their last breath, giving Jon the right of doubts about sparing his life or not.

But one thing was clear: it was his mother’s love and trust for him what kept him still alive.

Jon cleared his throat and moved to Daenerys’ left shoulder and carefully placed the dragon egg above it, his fingers slightly blushing against her loose silver hair before stepping back, towards Viserion’s side.

Kinvara took out a small dagger and faced towards Rhaegal, but Jon quickly got in her way, eyeing the blade in her hand. “Melisandre didn’t need any blood to do this.”

The Red Priestess only gave him a look. “Melisandre didn’t need to bring you back several days after…” she put a hand on his arm and moved him away gently, finding Rhaegal’s scowl on. “The Mother of Dragons will need all the magic possible and even so, it might not be enough.”

“You said that the four of us are not strong enough for whatever it is to come. Your Lord of Light wants her here,” the prince in front of her told her and offered her his opened palm. “So just do it.”

Kinvara took the hand and cut it, Rhaegal grimacing a bit at the action, seeing as the cut was deep enough to have blood drops falling into a wooden bowl. She then moved to Viserion and did the same, the blonde prince letting out a small groan at it. Once it was Drogon’s turn, the young king didn’t even blink as he kept his red stare on the woman in front of him.

“Aegon.”

Jon was wary of it, Drogon could see it. But he gave his hand to Kinvara, nonetheless, and his blood was spilled on the wooden bowl as well. The Priestess walked towards his mother, who was naked with only her breasts and pelvis covered by towels. She took a cloth and dipped it into the blood gathered inside the bowl before beginning to slide the bloody cloth on Daenerys’ body, starting with her chest.

“Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi,” Kinvara started whispering as she walked around Daenerys, painting her with their blood on the arms and legs. “Se gis hen syndrorro jemagon.”

Valyrian. Drogon recognized the tongue.

_"We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness."_

He looked at his brothers, seeing they did as well. Jon was the only one confused, watching every movement the woman made with distrust… but there was a bit of hope on his features, as if he was expecting for a miracle to happen.

The black haired boy broke his stare from him towards his mother; he hoped so too.

“Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon.”

_"We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out."_

The flames on the torches around Daenerys grew higher and Balerion’s screech was heard from outside.

“Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson.”

_“From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life.”_

Soon Daenerys was painted in red, by their blood. Her chest, her stomach, her arms, her legs, her face. She was all blood… and Drogon could feel the magic around; it was coming from the dragonglass, from the dragon eggs, from the blood itself. But there was still something missing.

“Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson,” Kinvara repeated, standing behind Daenerys to cut part of her silver-blonde curls and then throw them into the torches next to her. “Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson.”

Drogon looked over his shoulder to hear Balerion screeching in the distance… in pain.

_Fire._

He locked eyes with Viserion and then with Rhaegal, knowing the same thought was going through their heads.

The flames kept getting higher as Kinvara stood in front of Daenerys and placed her hands above her chest, “Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson.”

_“Will there be more dragons, mama?” a little Rhaegal, no more than six years for what he looked, asked. That caught Drogon’s attention, setting his wooden horses aside to look at their mother. Even Viserion put down his book about Valyria, waiting for her answer. They were all sitting on a rock, watching their three dragons flying up above, fighting for some hunt Meraxes or Vhagar had made and Balerion wanted to take for himself. “Will you bring more dragons back to life?”_

_“I don’t know, sweetling. I think Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar were the only ones left.”_

_“We can look for them,” Drogon offered, crawling up on the rock to sit in front of his mother, suddenly feeling very excited about the idea. “We’ll look for them when we’re older and we’ll bring them to you. So you can give them life!”_

_Dany chuckled at their enthusiasm and daydreaming. “Giving life isn’t something easy, my loves,” she explained to them with that sweet and calm voice she’d reserve only for them. “That night… was beyond magical. I didn’t only give life to your dragon brothers… I also gave life to you.”_

_“You are the magical one, mama,” Viserion told her with his golden eyes lighting up. “You did all that! You brought back dragons after hundreds of years! You brought us to the world, all through fire and blood! I wish we could see that.”_

_Rhaegal giggled. “You want to see mama bringing us into the world again? She can’t do that, silly. She’s not that magical.”_

_The way he said it made Drogon and Daenerys laugh along and put a frown between Viserion’s blonde eyebrows. “Don’t laugh! That’s not what I meant!” His frown grew deeper when his brothers’ laughter only grew as his mother was trying to keep it inside. “Don’t make fun of me, mama!” He crossed his little arms over his chest, a pout forming on his lips._

_“I’m not making fun of you, baby,” Daenerys quickly defended herself. “Your brothers’ laughs... they’re funny.”_

_“She can’t go back in time, can she, Viserion?” Drogon shared a knowing look with Rhaegal and laughed more._

_“No!” Viserion glared at him, his cheeks starting to get red from the anger. “But you won’t be laughing when she gives life to more dragons through fire and blood!”_

_“You’re right,” Daenerys nodded to him. “Maybe I will do that one day, again. And you three will be there to help me. But in the meantime… you’ll help me punish your brothers for making fun of you.” Drogon and Rhaegal’s laughter were cut off at the seriousness on her voice and face. She stood up and took Viserion’s hand, helping him up on his feet. “You’ll take care of Rhaegal and I’ll take care of Drogon, is that all right?”_

_Viserion’s pout transformed into a little smirk, enjoying the worried faces of his brothers. “Yes!”_

_Daenerys smiled and looked at her sons still sitting in front of her. “We’re merciful, aren’t we, my prince?” A little blonde nodded along. “We’ll give you three seconds to run. One…”_

_Drogon and Rhaegal looked at each other in confusion._

_“Two…” Viserion sang._

_Both brothers jumped up and started running away, unsure of what to expect._

_“Three!” Both Daenerys and Viserion yelled before going after them._

Drogon smiled at the memory, remembering all the tickles that his mother subjected him into. That was a morning to remember; he could still hear their laughs. They were happy. Him, her, his brothers… that happiness wouldn’t come back, ever again. Unless…

 “Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson!” Kinvara repeated over and over again with fiercer, as if she were desperate.

It wasn’t working.

“She needs fire,” the Red Priestess’ eyes snapped open to him and Jon’s head snapped towards his way. “It’s through fire and blood she can give life. Not only blood.”

“Drogon,” Jon approached him, a bit of fear showing off in his eyes, but not for himself. “She’s… dead. We don’t know if it’ll be the same –”

Rhaegal and Viserion didn’t wait in grabbing the torches and moving them towards their mother, Kinvara had to step back when the flames were quick to catch on Daenerys’ bloody skin and all around her, growing so high and large to the sides Jon had to jump back, but Drogon stood on his place, feeling dizzy and hypnotized by the flames – he wanted to look at his brothers, know if they felt this strong force pulling them towards the fire as well, but he couldn’t look away.

“Rhaegal, Viserion!” Drogon heard Jon’s voice in the distance as he felt the presence of his brothers in each of his sides. “Drogon! Back away!”

_Bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back._

He could see her through the flames, but he didn’t see any dragon egg hatching. He didn’t see any change in her. The anger inside him started boiling up as the flames grew wild, starting to catch on the rocks above them as parts of them started falling.

_Come back. Come back. Come back._

“Boys…” Jon yelled behind them. “We have to get out of here!”

More rocks fell around them and Drogon could get out of the trance long enough to realize the cave was shaking above them. He looked at his sides and saw his brothers hypnotized by the flames, just like he probably was. But he wasn’t going to let them be hurt.

Drogon took them by their arms and pushed them away, towards Jon and out of the harm from the small rocks that were started to rain. The cave was going to be torn apart because of the fire that kept growing. And he knew there was only one way to put it out.

He heard Rhaegal and Viserion crying out for him in the distance as he stepped into the fire and let the flames that were embracing his mother catch on him as well. Pain started to spread inside him, but fire had nothing to do it, if anything was trying to cease it; the pain came from seeing his mother’s eyes still closed.

“Come back, mama,” he whispered to her and placed his hand above hers and the dragon egg Viserion had put between them. Nothing. His other hand took hold of her left shoulder and shook her, his eyes leaving out desperate and big tears. “Mother! Come back! You have to come back to us!”

Nothing.

Drogon felt his knees weak. He buried his face onto her stomach, the blood staining his face, but he held on to her and cried on it, his hands gripping at hers so hard it even hurt him, and he knew he had to let go – of his rage, of her.

“COME. BACK!” He yelled at the top of his lugs, his scream blending with Balerion’s roar outside.

Drogon opened his eyes to not feel the warm of the flames around them anymore. He frowned to see they were gone, only a few rocks finished falling a few meters from them. He moved his head up, but saw nothing different. The dragon eggs were still just that – dragons eggs. His mother… still a dead woman.

The black haired King stared at Daenerys’ face, starting to realize what this meant.

“It didn’t work,” Viserion said behind him.

“You said it would work!” Rhaegal accused the woman that was indeed alive and across their mother’s coffin, pale as a paper. “What is this Lord of Light? He needs her here, yet he won’t bring her back! There’s no Lord of Light. There’s no prince and princess that were promised. We’re not the three heads of the dragon, it’s all bullshit! You don’t touch me!” Drogon glanced over his shoulder to see Jon had approached his brother, but he only glared at him through his dark green eyes. “I’ll tell you what we are. Orphans. The future of House Targaryen is just a bunch of three orphan boys. The prince that was promised is a bastard, a traitor,” he spat out with venom. “And the princess that was promised went mad and was killed for it. Dead. And she’s not coming back.”

Drogon cringed at the ‘ _mad_ ’ word but he couldn’t blame him. The anger he’d felt inside wasn’t only his; it was his brothers’ as well. They were angry at this… Lord of Light, at the Red Priestess for giving them false hopes. At all the ones responsible that led to this; at the Lannisters, the Starks, Jon Snow. At their mother herself; hadn’t she given it, had she kept it together…

“Your Lord of Light seems to make promise after promise,” Viserion spoke up through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the brunette woman across them. “But he doesn’t achieve any of them, does he?”

Drogon moved his red eyes down to the dead woman’s body in front of him and realized he was still holding her hand. He breathed in and let go of her, gaze moving up to meet the Red Priestess’ blue one.

“Alright then. Tell your Lord he can keep her… but he’ll have to stick to the consequences. I’m done with this.” He turned to look at his brothers, Rhaegal and Viserion were glaring at the woman a few meters from them still, but he gained their attention, their eyes moving slightly at the blood on his hands, on his neck and face. Their useless blood. “You’re right, Rhaegal. She’s not coming back. We’re on our own. And our house depends on a bunch of orphans, but we’re more than that. We’re dragons. So if they want to see what three orphans dragons can be like, we’ll give it to them. You,” he looked at Jon then, he seemed to be gone in his thoughts, with his grey gaze lost on his mother behind him. It took him a moment to slowly move his eyes up at him. “Are you with House Targaryen, or are you not, Jon Snow?”

Jon blinked and needed no moment to answer back, “I am.”

Drogon smirked if only slightly, knowing the meaning of that bare answer. He swallowed and moved his head towards his mother, but refused to look back at her in the end. He couldn’t keep looking back.

“We’ll bury her when we come back.”

He started walking his way out of the cave, but was stopped by Viserion’s voice.

“When we come back from where?”

Drogon turned to him. “I am not going to make the same mistakes as mother. I am done delaying what’s our right and giving more time to our enemies. A war with the Starks waits for us, doesn't it?”

Drogon didn’t spare a glance to Jon as he turned and walked away from them. He was with House Targaryen now, and there was no coming back from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next chapter is mostly Jon's POV and is a truly big deal, once and for all... no spoilers!_
> 
> _Please let me know what you think if you want! Thank you._


	5. Greatness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello! It’s good to be back this early considering my past updates. Thank you all for your support; for the comments and the kudos and the bookmarks, I love each one of them!_
> 
> _Long chapter ahead. And if I may add, the one that I’ve been most excited to write! Also, **be aware** that there will be many mentions of blood because… shit goes down once and for all._

**GREATNESS**

“Do you think this will work?”

Jon held on to his horse’s reins and looked to Viserion riding to his right. He had a very small frown drawing on his blonde eyebrows and curiosity filling his golden eyes, reminding him of the boy he used to be before everything turned into a mess. Jon knew what to answer him, as he was sure the prince knew it as well and was just trying him with the truth.

Everyone knew this was useless, yet something was going to come out from this encounter that would satisfy them. Their plan was for this not to work, and Jon was very well aware of that, despite it was his idea to do this in the first place.

“You mean, for you and your brothers, for me? For them?”

Viserion’s frown became deeper and Jon saw Rhaegal on his horse, ahead of them next to the boy King, glancing over to them for a moment before focusing back on the front.

“If it’ll work for us, it’d have to work for you too, Jon. You swore to our house. Are you regretting it now?”

“No. Never.” He was quick to reply, his voice even daring to rise a bit to the boy for the implication that he would ever regret it. Viserion didn’t flinch, only arched an eyebrow to his way, like his mother would have done. “You want a war. I don’t want it. I’ve had enough of those.”

“So have we,” the blonde boy nodded his head, his golden eyes drafting forward towards his brothers ahead of them. “We didn’t want a war, either. We wanted our mother to rule. That’s all.”

Jon sighed, knowing he had to face this. Hope was still clutching at his heart, even if he knew what was going to come out from this encounter, but he could only hope he was wrong. Oh how he wished that he, and the boys, were wrong about this.

They’d come back from Dragonstone on Balerion two days ago, after failing to bring back Daenerys. Something was not right about that; Jon felt angrier than he did before. Why would the Lord of Light bring him back but not her? She was much more important than he was. If it was true the world needed the five of them to face whatever was coming – maybe even greater than the Great War – why would this Lord deny them what they needed most?

The world needed Daenerys. The boys needed their mother. He needed her.

But it was just not possible.

Drogon was right. They were on their own. The boys had each other. He had them, even if they were taking slow steps – Jon was no longer a prisoner, but an ally of the Targaryens… only in name. He had his own chambers in the palace that was being rebuilt by the previous destruction, even if it was far away from the princes and king, but he was always guarded by two of the Unsullied, anywhere he went. He wasn’t allowed near the princes and the king; Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion had been avoiding him as much as they could. He wasn’t even allowed in the War Council that they held with the Unsullied, Yara Greyjoy and the prince of Dorne, but Jon decided he’d had enough then.

_Jon entered Maegor’s Holdfast and walked through it to the small council it was being held. Even if two Unsullied soldiers were always close to his steps, none of the others approached him to stop him as he interrupted the meeting._

_Everyone fell silent and stared at him. The three brothers looked at each other, and Jon recognized the look already; they were deciding between the three of them whoever was going to speak. It was rare the times Rhaegal would speak a single word to him, but it seemed he was the one chosen to tell him to back off this time._

_“You can’t be in –”_

_“I can and I will,” Jon cut him off, taking a step forward and not missing the glare coming from Grey Worm next to Drogon. “I’m not longer a prisoner. I’m an ally of yours. I am to fight by your side against my own people. You can’t leave me out.” New looks were exchanged between the Targaryen brothers and Drogon was going to speak this time, probably with less patience than his brothers, so Jon kept on. “You need me for the strategy. They’re going to do the opposite of what they always do, because Sansa knows_ I _know it all.”_

_Drogon and Rhaegal looked at Viserion immediately and the blonde prince only glared at them, almost giving them an ‘I told you so’ look. Rhaegal gave a simple shrug and looked over at his oldest brother, who seemed to have the decision to make now. Jon knew they trusted him enough to let him live and_ with them _, but he couldn’t blame them for not fully trusting he’d favor them over his family and his people. But his family… Sansa, shouldn’t be doing this on the first place. And Jon had made a promise to Daenerys – not saying everything he knew to favor the boys’ side and them losing the battle and dying because of it, would be more than treason to it. And that was something he knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with._

_“Very well then,” Viserion spoke this time and gestured him the single chair across the table, in opposition of Drogon. “Take your seat, Jon Snow.”_

He’d learnt that Tyrion Lannister was still in a cell, waiting for his punishment; the Targaryen boys didn’t want to hurry on it and wanted to think of the perfect way to punish him. Death was just too easy and merciful for him. He’d learnt the North’s army was prepared and ready to attack any time now. Knowing Arya was with them and that he’d have to fight his little sister on the battlefield pushed him to cross the barrier and dare to ask the Targaryens for this parley that they all knew how it was going to come out.

_“It will for nothing and you know it,” Drogon told him as if he was stupid, after Yara Greyjoy and the prince of Dorne left. It was only them, and Grey Worm. “Send her a letter telling her you’re free now, it won’t make a difference. You know her better than us, and we know she won’t stand down because you’re no longer a prisoner.”_

_“Yes, you’re right about Sansa. It’s not her I’m counting on.”_

_“Arya,” Rhaegal said, eyes narrowing to him. “You think Arya doesn’t want this war as much as Sansa does? She never trusted my mother, either. How will this make a difference for her?”_

_“If Arya is so sure of this war, it’s only because she thinks I’m your prisoner and I’m going to be executed at any time. I know her.”_

_“She seems to be very loyal, yes,” Rhaegal gave a single nod of head, and Jon almost felt the need to smile; this conversation – as twisted as it was – was the longest the brown haired prince had had with him ever since_ that _moment. “But who will she be more loyal to, in the end? You or the North? Her brother or her people?”_

_“And Arya is not the one on charge, Jon Snow,” Drogon continued. “And there’s something you must be forgetting… a parley to stop this war is not my interests because I want this – I want your people and your sister punished for the treason done to my mother. I don’t care if she bends the knee. Her treason to my mother is done.”_

_“If she bends the knee, which she won’t,” Viserion quickly added. “And you kill her nonetheless, you will be seen as a vengeful King, my brother,” Drogon and Rhaegal glared at him and Jon saw the blonde boy almost rolling his eyes at them. “I want our vengeance as much as you both do. But you’re the King, Drogon. You have to set an example of justice, and an example you shall set. We can’t forget what mother taught us. We always have to give to give our enemies the chance of surrender and –”_

_“ – if they don’t take it, that’s another matter.” Drogon and Rhaegal finished for him, each one with heavy sighs._

_“Yes. Jon is right. We have to do this parley. We show her Jon is free and by our side. As a free man and the oldest of the Starks, he should be the Warden of the North again, should he not? There should be no war, then. Because Jon is sworn to our house and would be Warden of the North – he’s bent the knee to our mother, the North should be under our power again. But of course Sansa won’t take that. She wants to be Queen in the North; Jon as our prisoner only gave her a fair excuse to rebel against us. With that excuse aside, what is left?”_

_“Her true intentions… her seek of power,” Drogon smiled at his brother. “Everyone will see she’s doing this because she wants the North independent and her as Queen.”_

_Rhaegal titled his head. “I’m not sure that will make any of her men any less eager to fight against us.”_

_“No, of course no,” Drogon agreed with him. “Maybe the most loyal ones to Jon will start reconsidering it, but it won’t make a difference on battle. It’ll make a difference for everyone else to see I am doing just what I have to do as King. Not what I want to.” Rhaegal and Viserion nodded in agreement and Drogon stood up from his chair, followed by him and his brothers. “Then there’s nothing more to discuss. Send the word, Jon Snow. We’ll meet your sister tomorrow morning for this parley.”_

_This wasn’t what Jon wanted; though he knew it’d be a risk. But that wasn’t on his mind; he still had the most minimal hope that Arya could change Sansa’s mind, that Sansa would see this through and accept her wrong on this. It was probably not going to happen, but there was still a small chance that his sister’s intentions weren’t all tainted by power and ambition._

_Drogon started walking out of the place, and Jon turned to him, for this could be the last time he’d see him until the next day and a question kept echoing in his head._

_“Once all this is over, if we win… that’s your plan for Sansa? Killing her?”_

_Jon expected Drogon to only glare at him and keep walking, showing him he didn’t need to give him any explanations of his plans. But the boy King turned to him and stared at him for a couple of seconds before replying;_

_“Your sister is going to be punished. That’s all you need to know, Jon Snow.”_

Jon swallowed as the sight of his… family became clearer. Sansa and Arya were on their horses, accompanied with Ser Brienne, Ser Davos, Lord Arryn, Lord Tully, and the Starks guards, with the family’s flag wiggling with the wind around them.

Drogon and Rhaegal’s horses stopped. Viserion and Jon parted ways to stand next to their sides; Jon went for Rhaegal’s right and Viserion for Drogon’s left. The Unsullied stayed behind them, except for Grey Worm, who stood in front of Drogon’s horse.

Jon spared a glance to Drogon, seeing his red glare fixed on Sansa – his redhead sister didn’t feel intimidated by it, only held her chin up and looked straight into him. “Jon’s latter said this parley was to discuss something that could prevent the war. I take it’s his freedom?”

Drogon smiled to himself before speaking. “Jon Snow is free. We’ve pardoned his life and he’s pledged to House Targaryen. He’s sworn to us. He’s the Warden of the North once again.”

That seemed to take the Starks and their allies by surprise. Sansa and Arya looked at each other, Davos searched for Jon’s gaze, which made him clear his throat to speak up.

“As the King has said, I am the Warden of the North and the North is sworn to the Crown, to House Targaryen. I bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen and that hasn’t changed…” Sansa opened her mouth to interrupt him and protest, but he only glared at her and kept on. “The Northerners have chosen me to be their King once. By bending the knee to Queen Daenerys, I did what was right for our people. She fought alongside us. No one in the North would be alive if it weren’t for her –”

Venom seemed to reflect in Sansa’s blue eyes. “She didn’t kill the Night King, Arya –”

“Arya and _I_ did,” Rhaegal cut her off, enjoying the many emotions crossing the oldest Stark’s face. Anger, hate, disgust. “Arya distracted him and I was the one that finished it all. Everyone knows that. The North survived the Great War because of my mother and her armies, because of our dragons… and because of me. Don’t you dare imply the North would even be standing if it weren’t for our family.”

“Sansa. It’s over,” Jon declared, knowing it’d fall on deaf ears. “The North is sworn to House Targaryen. If you declared yourself Queen in the North and prepared your armies because I was a prisoner, then you need to tell them to retire, because I am a free man and I am telling you: there will be no war against the Targaryens.”

Something seemed to flicker in Sansa’s blue gaze. He saw the old Sansa for a moment with the softness mixed with sadness that grew in her eyes, but it only lasted a second, for the coldness replaced it quickly.

“I won’t tell them that. I will tell them the truth. I will tell them you are the trueborn heir to the Seven Kingdoms, because your father was Rhaegar Targaryen and your mother was Lyanna Stark. I will tell them how they married each other in secret and you were taken in as a bastard by my father, Ned Stark, because he made a promise to his dying sister to protect you.”

Jon was in utterly shock, not wanting to believe she’d just told the secret that she’d sworn to keep in front of their sacred tree. But she’d broken that oath before; it shouldn’t have surprised him she was doing it now just for the sake of her power. This could bring up more rebellions against the Targaryen brothers’ rule. This was going to dismiss the Northerners’ decision to choose him as their leader.

“Sansa –” Arya tried to stop her.

“You can’t be King in the North because you are not a Stark. You’re not one of us anymore, Jon –”

Arya’s frown deepened with fury. “Yes he is! You need to shut –”

“He is not!” Sansa yelled at her sister. Jon knew Arya had to bite the inside of her cheek; her grey eyes, the ones that looked so much like his, stared back at him with desperation and guilt. “Drogon’s claim to the throne has no foundations, as didn’t Daenerys’. You are the true King of Westeros by birthright. You don’t want to take the throne? That’s all right for you. But our people chose you because they thought you to be Ned Stark’s son, bastard or not. But you’re not. You have never been. I am his oldest child. I am the Queen in the North and I will not bend the knee to an untrue King,” she said looking straight into Drogon’s eyes, which Jon knew had to be showing the flames inside him. She drifted her gaze towards him then, and the coldness only grew if anything. “I will never bend the knee to any Targaryen.”

A heavy silence settled around them. Jon kept his eyes only on Sansa; everything their father had ever stood up for… it was gone. Honor, loyalty, family. Sansa had ruined it all in matter of seconds; she broke them apart, as Ned had never wanted to. His father – or uncle, should he start calling him in his head – had kept the secret for more than sixteen years to keep him safe and because he _promised_ it to his sister. He’d been true to his honor, to his loyalty, to his family. Sansa wasn’t any of that.

She’d casted him aside. Jon had always felt like an outsider in the Stark family but he was _still_ family. To Ned. To Robb. To Arya. To little Bran and Rickon. Tears prickled in his eyes, but he wasn’t going to let them out – as much as the pain grew, so did the anger. She’d expelled him from their family, once and for all.

He broke apart from her blue, icy gaze to find grey eyes filled with tears as well. It was then that the anger faded and only the pain stayed.

_“You’re my brother. Not my half-brother or my bastard brother. My brother.”_

Arya’s lips parted. “Jon –”

“You’re right, Sansa.” It hurt to speak, there was a lump in his throat that it was starting to truly ache. “I am not Stark. I never was. I am Rhaegar Targaryen’s son. But Drogon is the heir to the Iron Throne, just like Daenerys was. I don’t want that throne,” as much as he didn’t want to talk about it, everyone needed to hear it from him after such confession. Even though Daenerys’ words started resonating in his mind;

_“You can say nothing. To anyone ever. Never tell them who you really are. Swear your brother and Samwell Tarly to secrecy and tell no one else. Or it will take into a life of its own and you won’t be able to control it or what it does to people. No matter how many times you bend the knee. No matter what you swear.”_

Sansa knew that. She did this on purpose.

She’d thrown him out of the Starks. She’d threatened the boys’ rule and safety. She’d crossed the line and there was no coming back from it.

“I am not one of you, that’s right,” he repeated with pain and anger between gritted teeth, feeling the darkness filling his stare and his chest as he looked back at his sister – cousin. Sansa swallowed and tried to keep her chin up, but fear showed in her eyes, realizing too late the consequences of her words. Too late. “I am a Targaryen and my place is with them.”

Sansa shook her head at him slightly, almost disgusted. “You made your choice, Jon. You chose them, you chose those boys that will do nothing but –”

“Those boys –” Jon cut her off with his scream, and had to hold stronger the reins of his horse to keep himself from jumping and going straight to slap Sansa’s mouth for her audacity. “Have more honor than you will ever have. I will fight for them. I will die for them if necessary. I may not be Ned Stark’s son, but I will do what he taught me all my life; I will honor my words. I will stand by my loyalty to the right person. I will protect my family,” he glared up and down at her – any bit of love and affection he had for his sister vanished the moment she crossed the last line. “What would Ned say if he was here now?”

Sansa must have realized what she’d done too late, for Jon was sure no one had ever witnessed this fury inside him. It wasn’t like the one he had in battle or when facing an enemy. It was the one that came out to those that dared to threaten his loved ones. It was a fury that he’d been containing inside him for so long… one that he should have let out so much earlier, back when Daenerys was disrespected in front of his eyes and he never saw it. He didn’t want to.

Jon turned his horse to ride away, but was stopped to hear Drogon’s words after much silence. “Any possibility of you surviving past tomorrow… it’s long gone now. You’ve just dug your grave, Sansa Stark.”

Drogon turned on his horse and rode away. Viserion right after him. Rhaegal glanced over at him, almost in a sympathetic way, before going after his brothers.

Arya’s voice sounded close to him. “Jon…”

Jon closed his eyes and rode away, after the Targaryen brothers. He couldn’t look back at her. He couldn’t hear whatever she had to tell him. Arya meant more than his life to him, but it was clear her side wasn’t with him… and he meant what he said; he was a Targaryen and these three boys were the only family left he had now. It was time for him to start accepting that.

**I**

“Forgive me for interrupting Your Grace, but there’s something I must discuss with you three and it cannot wait till tomorrow.”

Rhaegal arched an eyebrow to Jon across the table. He hadn’t interrupted their diners before, respecting that they didn’t want to dine with him. He always had his meal after them. By the look on his face, Rhaegal sensed it was something important for him – he knew he wouldn’t have crashed their dinner time otherwise, but he couldn’t care less about whatever Jon Snow had to tell them; perhaps he did, but he would never show it.

“This may be our last meal as brothers, Jon Snow, and you dare to interrupt it?” Rhaegal snapped his head towards his oldest brother with a small frown, and so did Viserion, but there was no nervousness coming off of him. Drogon looked at them both with a frown of his own, the amusement disappearing from his eyes; Rhaegal realized then he was just joking. “Of course it won’t be our last meal together, brothers. I was just joking.”

Rhaegal rolled his eyes and focused back on his meal, ignoring Jon’s presence all the same. It wasn’t the first time that they misunderstood each other’s feelings; ever since Viserion fell in a coma, there was a breaking in the connection they’d always shared. It wasn’t strange for them; their third brother was in a coma and missing from their connection. Of course it wouldn’t be the same. After Viserion woke up, though, things hadn’t changed that much.

Rhaegal could still sense if any of his brothers were feeling anything truly deep, he could still imagine what the other was thinking by just one look, but there was still something wrong… it felt like something was still missing.

Perhaps losing their mother had broken their connection in a way it couldn’t be repaired.

“Well, you don’t joke with that,” Viserion almost growled at Drogon, who merely rolled his eyes at their brother. The blonde boy turned to Jon then and nodded his head towards him. “Why are you here, Jon?”

“I know I haven’t discussed this with you, but seeing you three so sure of the outcome of tomorrow and that Balerion hasn’t been around ever since we came back, I took it upon myself to do it.”

Rhaegal shifted uncomfortably on his seat, feeling the anger rising in his brother King, seeing it by the way he straightened his posture and moved forward, red eyes lighting up. He couldn’t blame his brother for his anger; he embraced it, though fear grew in him as did the anger. Jon had done something without discussing it with them; the last time he’d done that with a Targaryen, with their mother, he’d freed Tyrion, leading it to her death and his biggest mistake. Could have he done another mistake that would lead to a treason, again?

“What have you done, Jon Snow?” Drogon asked between gritted teeth.

Jon seemed a bit confused and surprised by the anger that had to be on all their three faces. “I arranged for a ship to take you three in case anything goes wrong tomorrow.”

The word was out of their three mouths before they could even think, “What?”

“I know you’re certain that we are winning tomorrow, but you always have to have a backup plan. The ship will be –”

“We are not running away,” Drogon cut him off. “We are not going to lose, Jon Snow.”

“You don’t have your dragon. This will be like any other battle… and you three are young. I’ve had enough of battles to know that as good as you are, you can still fall like a fly. If any of you is badly hurt, you three are taking that ship. And that is final.”

“You can’t order us anything!” Drogon stood up from his chair, making it tremble behind him. “What is final is what I say, not what you order. I’m the King here, not you. You can’t tell me –”

“I can and I will,” Rhaegal was impressed by Jon daring to raise his voice to Drogon, even taking a step forward to the table. “Your mother trusted that I would look over you, which means she left me in charge of you. I will tell you what to do if it’s for your own protection; I don’t care what you say or what you think.”

Before Drogon would start yelling, losing his temper for Jon even daring to speak to him like that, Rhaegal intervened. “If Drogon is in danger, Balerion will come back from Dragonstone, that’s where the people have seen him flying to.”

“But not in time,” Rhaegal saw Drogon ready to yell at him once again out of the corner of his eye, but Jon was ahead of him. “What if it’s you? Or Viserion? What if any of you are badly hurt? Balerion won’t come to your rescue, and even if he does, it might be too late. We can’t take that risk.”

Drogon’s anger ceased at that, Rhaegal felt it as did Viserion, who took his clue to speak. “I know we’re young, but you haven’t seen us fight together, Jon. Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah… they agreed that together, we could be invincible on battle.”

“No one is invincible,” Jon answered and Rhaegal eyed his black haired brother, knowing a thought was crossing his mind by the way his red eyes were fixed on the table, away from this conversation. “You had three dragons back then, too. You had your mother. This is entirely different.”

“We can’t run,” Rhaegal repeated, a bit surprised that the man with honor was giving them that choice on the first place. “If we lose, we lose and we pay the consequences. We’re not running from anyone. And I can assure you, I am not going to let anyone kill any of my brothers.”

“Neither I am,” Drogon came back to their reality, but the seriousness of his voice made both brothers look back at him. “I _hate_ to admit it, but Jon Snow is right. If the battle doesn’t favor us, if any of you is badly hurt, you both will go into that ship.”

It was his and Viserion’s turns to jump from their chairs, anger filling them in. “No. We are not doing that, are you out –”

“Yes you are,” Drogon glared at each one of them. “I won’t have them capturing the three of us.”

Rhaegal frowned, more anger settling in. “We won’t have them capturing you alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Drogon’s red eyes drifted towards Jon. “Will I?”

Jon opened his mouth to answer, but Rhaegal didn’t give a damn about what he had to say. That wasn’t up for discussion. “We’re not going to that ship if things go wrong. If we go, the three of us go, not one, or two. Three.”

Drogon glared at him. “You have to listen to me –”

“No, _you_ have to listen to _us_!” Viserion yelled this time, surprising them both. It was rare the times that their brother would raise the tone of his voice, much less with them. “You are the King only because you’re the oldest, but only for a few minutes. We don’t have to do anything because you tell us to. We’re equals and you know that,” Rhaegal had the same thoughts as Viserion, but it was good their brother was hearing it from him, because they all knew their blonde brother wouldn’t speak out of jealousy or just for the fun of it. He always tried to be the conciliator and do what was right for the three of them. “We know you just want to protect us, but we protect each other. The three of us. That’s what we’ve always done and that’s what we will always do. You don’t want to lose us because you’ve already lost mother? You wouldn’t be losing anything else if you stay and we go, because you’d die and _we_ would be the ones left without our mother _and_ our older brother.”

Rhaegal nodded, agreeing with each of his brother’s words. Even when their mother was alive, Drogon felt responsible for the two of them, as rough as he was, as disinterested and cold he wanted to play, they knew him better. He’d do anything to protect them, now more than ever than he must have felt he didn’t do enough to protect their mother.

He accompanied him in that feeling, but that was another matter.

“We all go to that ship or we don’t go at all,” Rhaegal finished for Viserion, who was already sitting back on his chair. “It’s your choice, brother.”

“I was going to say…” Jon cleared his throat and gained their attention once more. “That in my mind, two of you going was never an option. It’s the three of you… without discussion.”

Rhaegal, Viserion and Jon looked at Drogon, waiting for his words. There was nothing he could do to change their minds and he knew it. He looked from Viserion to Rhaegal back and forth, resignation showing in his red gaze.

“Someone has to stay. Our house has run enough.”

“I will,” Jon spoke up right away. The three boys’ heads snapped towards him. “I am… a Targaryen as well. You three go and I stay.”

For some reason, Rhaegal wanted to fight against that – though he did have a point. He was a Targaryen; he’d made it clear hours before, right in front of what used to be his sisters. Sansa had dismissed him as much as she could as a Stark and Jon had made his choice. He truly was truthful to his last promise to their mother in watching over them… and Rhaegal was getting used to that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive Jon for his stupid mistake, for even thinking in killing his mother, but he missed the old times, when he fully trusted in him… when he’d share laughs with him and his mother.

He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive him because there was nothing that could bring his mother back for that mistake in letting Tyrion go, but he was starting to live with it rather than feed his anger and pain with it. Jon had stayed with them, despite everything. He’d been his prisoner willingly, recognizing his mistake. He’d stood up for them in the Dragonpit. He’d endured every one of their glares, of their cold and sharp words and he’d never opposed to that, only raising his voice to them when it was about their own wellbeing. He had taken their side, even if it meant going against his own family.

“If we go and you stay, how do you suppose to keep that promise you made to our mother?” Rhaegal questioned him, trying not to show his opposition to it.

“That’s exactly what I would be doing,” Jon gave him a tiny, half smile. “The ship will take you to Dragonstone. You bury your mother. You take your dragon and if I may suggest, you leave for the East and come back with more armies to take back what’s yours.”

Drogon sat back on his chair and rested his back against it. “Or we take our dragon and come back to burn Winterfell to the ground, so they know they may have won the battle, but we will win the war.”

“So it’s been decided?” Jon pressed on. “If something goes wrong on the battle, you go to the ship. All of you.”

Drogon arched an eyebrow. “Do we have a choice? If I want my brothers to live, the three of us are going,” Jon let out a small sigh of relief and nodded to them, ready to excuse himself. “And Jon?” Jon turned back to them as Rhaegal took back his seat, knowing exactly what his brother was going to say next. “Don’t ever raise your voice at me like that again… I’m not telling you this as the King, just as Drogon. You might think my mother left you in charge of us because of that promise, but that doesn’t make you our father.”

Jon looked like he almost wanted to chuckle. “Trust me, I know.”

He turned to leave, but Drogon cleared his throat. “I didn’t finish,” Rhaegal and Viserion looked at each other a bit confused as Jon did, facing them again. “Like you said, I’m certain we’re going to be just fine, but if things go wrong and we have to go, we won’t have another time for this. You betrayed our mother and that led her to her death. We can never forgive you that because there’s no coming back from that; she’s gone forever. You know that, do you not?”

Jon swallowed hard and nodded, his head lowering.

“But you have also been true to your promise to her. I know we were the most important thing for her… and even if you thought about killing her, she trusted you enough in the end to look out for us. That’s why you’re alive. That’s why you’re free. But even as a free man, you stayed with us. You stood by our side. You’re going to fight for us. And you prepared a ship to save us in case things go wrong.” Rhaegal narrowed his eyes, knowing now that the good he felt for Jon wasn’t only his, but also his brothers’. Or he had transferred those feelings to them, he wasn’t sure. It was good to know he wasn’t alone on that. “She loved you. You betrayed her but I know… that you loved her too. You’ve been trying to live up to that. And that’s something… I truly respect.”

Rhaegal knew that was the closest thing Jon was going to get as a sign of gratitude from Drogon. Viserion looked up at Jon too and nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Our mother would be proud.”

Rhaegal recognized the shiny water lighting Jon’s dark eyes and looked away before the man searched for his gaze. He swallowed and kept his green eyes on the meal in front of him, feeling all the eyes in the room on him, waiting for him to say something as well.

To see nothing was coming from him, Jon cleared his throat and looked at his brothers. “I failed your mother more than once… I’m just… glad I’m not failing her on this one, which I know would be the most important one for her. To keep you three safe.”

Drogon and Viserion gave him a single nod of head and Rhaegal felt Jon’s eyes on him before turning around and walking away. Once he was out of his sight, the brown haired prince let out a heavy sigh and took the cup with water to bring it to his lips, under their brothers’ stare.

“You didn’t say anything to him,” Viserion declared, eying him carefully. “You could have said something.”

“I thought you were the closest to him before,” Drogon commented. “There could be no other moment to –”

“I don’t have to do everything you both do, do I?” Rhaegal snapped to them. He had enough of feeling stupid for not staying anything to him when he could have. But like his brother said, he was the closest to Jon… before. Something broke between them that couldn’t be mended. Rhaegal had trusted in him, much more than his brothers had; he saw him as a possible father figure. He wanted it so. Jon didn’t fail only his mother when he betrayed her. “I’ll see you two in the morning. Good night.”

Drogon and Viserion must have sensed the confliction and anger and pain inside him, for they said nothing as Rhaegal stood on his feet and walked away, off to his chambers. Tomorrow was battle day; he had more important things to focus than on Jon Snow.

**II**

Jon took a deep breath and observed the place around them once more. It was clear the consequences that the Great War had left behind; the North’s armies had to be one thousand or so, though it was much than Jon thought it would be, considering the Wildings weren’t with them anymore and that they were far from the North, up in the South in King’s Landing. From what he could take in sight, the Vale’s army was nowhere to be seen; he still wondered if Sansa asked her cousin to protect the North with it alongside the remained houses back there, or she was going to pull out the same strategy she had planned in their battle against Ramsay, without even telling him.

But it didn’t surprise Jon to see many houses alongside his previous house. House Reed, House Manderly, House Hornwood, House Cerwyn and House Glover. A frown settled in his features, remembering the Glovers staying in Deepwood Motte instead of fighting with them in the Battle of Winterfell or supporting them in their fight against Ramsay, but there they were. Sansa must have promised something to them once she was Queen.

All these Houses together and away from the North, ready to fight against House Targaryen – the house that they owned so much for. It made him sick none of them remembered it was, majorly, because of Daenerys that the White Walkers were stopped at Winterfell and didn’t go any further to kill every one of them.

Jon’s horse moved slightly closer to Drogon’s, watching the boy in his fully Targaryen black and red clothes and how he stared into the army across the field. He glanced over his shoulder to see the hundreds of Dothraki or so right behind them, eager to ride into battle – his eyes darted further than that, towards Rhaegal and his brown horse riding through the Unsullied up to them. They had to be about one thousand as well. He looked up, towards Viserion and the many men standing on King’s Landing’s wall, or what it reminded of that; it was still enough for men to secure the wall with bows and arrows. The blonde prince gave him a short nod of head before Jon looked forward again.

He sighed, remembering a time when he’d be on the other side of the field, waiting for Daenerys to appear with Balerion and loose fire on the Golden Company, giving them the cue and free pass to break in King’s Landing.

Rhaegal’s horse stood next to Drogon’s black one as Jon kept his place on his left side. The brothers exchanged a look before focusing forward again. Jon looked up at the sky, seeing it clear blue with the sun shining bright on them.

“Are you certain Balerion is not in your plans?”

Rhaegal looked at him then, but there was some confusion in his green gaze that Jon didn’t understand. It was true Drogon had given his word that he wouldn’t use his dragon in battle and he believed him, but considering that now they got to see that they were equals in numbers, nor less and definitely, nor more, he could have changed his plans.

“You didn’t tell him,” Rhaegal stated, eyes moving towards his brother.

Drogon merely sighed, red eyes unmoving from the army across the field. “There was no time.”

Jon frowned, not liking the idea that there could be some change in their strategy that he wasn’t aware of. “Tell me what?”

“A raven arrived this morning. It was for you,” Drogon started explaining it to him. “It wasn’t signed. But it informed you that the Three-Eyed Raven knew that we had our mother’s body secured in Dragonstone and that we tried to bring her back. Your sist – Sansa, sent some ships to Dragonstone.”

Jon blinked, trying to take in this information as fast as possible considering the army prepared to attack them at any time now, only meters from them. “What? Why would she send ships to Dragonstone because of that? Is she out of her mind?”

“Apparently, yes,” Drogon answered him, voice flat. “And very uncaring for her people I must say, given she’d sent them into a suicide mission.”

Jon swallowed, knowing what he meant. It was true it didn’t take him much to know why the Northerners were so eager to attack them, even if it meant right outside King’s Landing’s gates; a place they were beyond unfamiliar with. Word must have spread like wildfire that Balerion wasn’t there but in Dragonstone; it was their perfect opportunity to battle the Targaryens if they didn’t have their dragon with them.

By knowing Daenerys’ body was back in Dragonstone and Balerion was there as well, Sansa must have known that the only way to secure the dragon far away from the battle would be if she sent a threat to Daenerys. But ashes would be spread all over the sea once Balerion took notice of the Stark ships, all to protect his mother, dead or not.

“They would have never gotten to her, if it weren’t for Balerion, for the Dothraki and Unsullied remaining there, but she knows that,” Drogon kept on, pulling out his sword Bloodspear. “But she still messed with my mother. Once more. She won’t even leave her alone to rest in peace.”

“Drogon,” Jon called for him, reminding him of himself not long ago, when he’d fallen into Ramsay’s game by using his little brother to lure him right in. “She’s trying to make you fall for it and act out of anger. She’s playing with you.”

“She’s playing with fire. And it’s time she burns because of it.”

Jon was going to reply to that, but the North’s army had started riding towards them. He took a deep breath and pulled out Longclaw, dark eyes narrowing to try to search for any familiar face that mattered to him between the soldiers coming to them; Arya wasn’t there, nor Ser Davos. It was only Sansa on her white horse in the back of it all, across the field, with Ser Brienne by her side and her other guards.

The Northerners kept coming closer. Jon took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as much as he’d made his choice and stood by it, these were his people not long ago. He’d fought alongside them. But that was different now…

He opened his eyes to see Drogon turning his horse around to look at the Dothraki and Unsullied behind them. His eyes moved past him, towards Rhaegal, searching for any fear in his green gaze, but there was nothing of the like – only determination and strength as he pulled out his sword, Firestorm.

_“Qoy qoyi,”_ Drogon yelled at the Dothraki behind them in their language. “ _You kept your promise to my mother, to your khaleesi. I was there when she chose you all instead of three blood riders. You all killed her enemies in iron suits and tore their stone houses down, but for what?! You gave her the Seven Kingdoms, but that was taken away from her!”_ the Dothraki yelled back at him in agreement, horses moving anxiously and weapons moving around in excitement. _“She’s asked you to fight alongside her against the dead. She’s asked you to fight for the people that are going to fight us now! They are traitors – a disgrace to us all, to our khalasar, to your khaleesi. The greatest khaleesi you will ever have. The khaleesi that has taken her khalasar to a place no khal has ever made it. The khaleesi that made you ride the wooden horses across the black salt seal. They all disrespected her! I, Drogon, son of Khal Drogo and Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, ask you to show them what happens to the people that disrespect the Dothraki. I ask you to still keep your promise to your khaleesi. Will you do that for me?!”_ Jon watched as the Dothraki screamed fiercer. _“Will you do that for her?!”_ the Dothraki screamed louder than before, horses growing wild and their arakhs swinging around in their hands.

Rhaegal turned his horse around this time and held his chin up.

_“Dovaogēdy!”_ Jon recognized the word in High Valyrian; he was speaking to the Unsullied now. _“We do not ask you to fight for us. We ask you to fight for the one that has returned to you what should have never been taken from you. Your freedom.”_ The Unsullied tapped their spears against the ground in agreement as Jon watched the Northerners getting closer and closer. _“She was not just our mother. She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains! Last you saw her, she asked you to break the wheel with her – this is the beginning of it. These people are part of that wheel; these people, all of them, have betrayed her, and us – all of us.”_ The spears kicking against the ground grew louder at that. _“Will you keep breaking the wheel with us? Will you keep breaking the wheel for Daenerys Stormborn?!”_

The Unsullied hit their spears louder against the ground and the Dothraki cheered along with them. Drogon and Rhaegal exchanged looks and small grins of pride, as one of his own drew in Jon’s lips – they were Daenerys’ sons, through and through. Both boys turned around in their horses to face the upcoming army that were about to reach them.

Jon looked at Drogon, knowing he had to give the signal to Viserion – but the young King kept his red eyes on the soldiers riding closer and closer to them, Jon growing a bit nervous to not see him even turning around to look at his brother behind them and up in the wall. He looked over to Rhaegal, seeing he had the same blank expression on his face, watching the Northerners approaching.

They were getting too close Jon had to speak, “Drogon –”

“Now.”

The boy merely whispered it, but that was enough for the first arrow of many to start raining from behind them. The arrows caught on a few of the men on the horses, but most of them stuck to the ground – that was the point. The Northerners screamed in arrogance and excitement, thinking the attack was a failure, making them ride faster towards them.

Just as they were about to reach them, many arrows with fire on their arrowhead flew right above them and fell right where the first ones were. Green fire, wildfire, spread as fast as the wind in a large line and even catching at the horses that had stepped on the previous arrows, making many men that were about to reach them fall off of their horses screaming in agony.

Drogon pulled Bloodspear up and had to only move it forward for the Dothraki to start riding towards the Northerners, yelling at the top of their lugs. The boy King looked at Jon and arched an eyebrow to him, to which Jon responded with a nod, letting him know what he needed to know – he was going to stand by their side, no matter what.

Drogon looked behind to Viserion for a moment, then to Rhaegal and forward, as a bare whisper escaped from his lips; Jon couldn’t hear it, but he read it on his lips.

“For you, mother.”

As soon as Drogon marched forward, so did Rhaegal and Jon. It wasn’t long before Jon’s horse was hurt and he fell off of it, being quick to block all the hits coming to his way and thrust his sword into each chest that showed into his sight. Blood was splashing from everywhere, from Dothraki, to Northerners, to Unsullied – he looked around, almost being run by a horse, his eyes trying to catch sight of any of the Targaryen brothers.

He was just at their side.

Jon looked desperately to everywhere; he saw Drogon’s horse, the black one, but he wasn’t on top of it. Nor Rhaegal’s horse was near. He started walking towards it, crashing his sword against a Northerner and slipping his throat open with it in a second, but he was so focused on walking forward, trying to find the boys with his dark gaze between all the blood and mud and still spots of wildfire, he didn’t see the horse running up right to him. The animal made him fly backwards, his back loudly hitting the ground as his breath was cut off.

A Northerner, a Stark soldier, looked down at him for a moment. Jon’s hand searched for Longclaw on the ground but found nothing. He didn’t have the strength to even get up, still trying to catch the air in his lugs.

The Stark soldier raised his sword up, ready to stab him on the chest, hadn’t another sword crossed him right from the back up to his chest. The man fell to the ground as Jon found Longclaw and gripped at it, eyes looking up to find a familiar face walking towards him.

“Oh boy, what in seven hells were you doing?”

“Davos? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass. You didn’t think I was gonna leave you just because the mess that that parley was, did ya?”

Jon took a deep breath and looked around; there would be time for questions later. He hoped.

“The boys… Rhaegal and Drogon. I can’t find them.”

“I’ve seen them – they’re fighting through the Northerners… trying to get to Sansa, probably. Foolish boys if you ask me.”

Jon nodded; there would be no way that the two of them could get through all the men. They were going to get themselves killed.

“Take me to them.”

**III**

Rhaegal cut a man’s hand off and kicked him on the chest to throw him off of him. He sighed deeply; he didn’t think what was worse, this or when he fought against the wrights. The creatures did scare him the most, but they were easier to kill than the humans all around him.

They were walking further into the battlefield; Dothraki and Unsullied were everywhere, dispersed around the place. They’d lost track of Jon only a moment after crossing the wildfire with their horses and they didn’t know where the man was. But Drogon was as stubborn as it came, even if their lives were in imminent danger.

There was only one goal in his head: Sansa Stark.

And Rhaegal wasn’t going to just let his brother fight his way through alone.

“Drogon!” He yelled, ducking down when a Stark soldier came up to him with his sword up – Drogon blocked his blow once and twice before Rhaegal stabbed him on the stomach. “We can’t stay here; they’re too many! We have to go back! We have to find Viserion!”

“We can’t back down now!” his black-haired brother took deep breaths and Rhaegal stopped a sword that was going straight for Drogon’s neck – the other boy thrusted his sword into the man’s hip and they both watched as he fell to the ground. “We have to get to her!”

“We won’t get to her if we die, you stupid! Let’s find Jon and Viserion and –”

Before any of the Targaryen brothers realized, four men had surrounded them. Rhaegal threw a death-glare to his brother but stuck his back with his and prepared for any of the men to throw themselves to them – the one covered in blood the most, with even a grin of satisfaction on his lips, dared to step closer to them and so did the other three. Rhaegal was ready to fight the two in front of him, _be quick, be quick_ , the only thought crossing his mind – but as the bloody man threw his sword forward towards him, an arrow passed right through his throat.

Blood started spilling from his mouth as the man chocked on it and fell backward. Viserion appeared a few feet behind him, saving his bow in the bag hanging on his back and drawing his sword, Dragontooth, out, but Rhaegal only had time to see the tired glare his blonde brother sent to their way as he had to quickly stop a strike from the other man in front of him. The other two in front of Drogon launched towards him, but Viserion was ahead of one and stopped the blade with his sword before it reached his brother’s head.

Rhaegal felt as if it were one more of their many practices together, back in Meeren. Though their lives were never in danger. But that familiar feeling filling him as he evaded many of the soldier’s hits only grew – which meant it wasn’t only his. His brothers felt it too.

_“I hope the day never comes,” Ser Barristan had told them once. “And I hope I’m right there to give my life for you, my princes, if necessary, but when you reach your first battle, the three of you, there’s something you have to remember. Don’t drift away from each other. You are stronger together than apart. You’re a quick child,” he said to Rhaegal. “You’re a smart child,” he told Viserion. “And you’re a strong one,” he looked at Drogon then. “You have what it needs to win a one on one because you three move as if you were one. Speed, intelligence and strength. Always remember that.”_

Rhaegal didn’t have the strength to keep blocking the man’s strikes, but Drogon did. He ducked just as Drogon caught the blow coming for Rhaegal; Viserion moved aside quickly to crash his sword against the one that was going for Drogon’s back and Rhaegal fell next to the man Viserion was fighting to stab him on the leg. Once the man fell to his knees, Rhaegal jumped up and chopped his head off in the blink of an eye.

Viserion was always the best in blocking the hits – he was quick to memorize or to figure out the opponent’s way of attacking. Like in their practices, the blonde prince blocked a left blow and jumped up, “Rhaegal, right!”

Viserion blocked the attacks coming from his left; the man seemed to be left-handed and kept attacking him in that direction. Rhaegal tried to take his cue to stab him from the right, but the man was fast, they had to give him that. He avoided the strike and launched his sword forward to go for Rhaegal’s stomach, but Viserion was faster and thrusted his sword into his left side. Rhaegal stabbed him on his chest for the final hit, letting out a long sigh once he was finished.

_Drogon._

Viserion and Rhaegal looked at each other, for the same thought reached them at the same time. They turned around to see his brother falling on his back, Bloodspear away from his reach.

Rhaegal, honoring his best trait, was quick to run towards the soldier and tackle him down to the ground before he could even had the chance to lift his sword to his brother. The sword was out of his grip, but not his fist. He punched Rhaegal on the face once, and twice, and when he was starting to feel dizzy, knowing the third punch was coming to his way, he felt the man’s weight on him being pulled off.

Soon he felt arms pulling him up; Drogon and Viserion, and Rhaegal had to blink and wipe the blood off of his eyes to see how Jon was on top of the man that had been previously punching him, now with Longclaw on his chest, thrusting the sword in and out, with all the blood splattering on his face.

“With all my respects, Your Grace,” Rhaegal saw Ser Davos next to them, looking at the three of them, his sword already spilling blood. “You have no business here. You can’t just get through all these men…” a soldier ran up to them, ready to chop off someone’s head, but Ser Davos sliced him right on his stomach. “You’re boys. And more importantly, you are the King and the princes. You need to be surrounded by your people.”

“I’m not hiding behind my people, I will fight just like them,” Drogon spat out, fingers gripping at Bloodspear. “I will kill every Northerner if necessary to get to that redhead bitch –”

“You will get the fuck out of here!” Jon screamed right after taking his sword out of some man’s chest. He breathed in and out in anger. “There are too many of the Northerners here, you have to –”

They didn’t have time to keep going on in their argument that they had horses and soldiers coming to their way. Jon knocked a man off of his horse and beheaded him as Ser Davos took another man off of his animal and killed him; both turning around in time to see two men charging towards Drogon. It wasn’t difficult for the young King to slice one man down, but to the other, they saw how fast and perfectly the brothers moved around one another; Jon thought he was about to have to intervene when the other man went directly for Drogon’s chest, but Viserion blocked the hit, Rhaegal sliced his right leg and Drogon cut his throat open.

Ser Davos looked at him with a raised eyebrow; back in Dragonstone, as they watched the three brothers practicing together, Jon had told him of how good they’d be together on battle and considering they’d been training with Dothraki and Unsullied all their lives. Davos believed it too, but dismissed it by telling him they were just boys, and on battle was a different thing. Now the old man seemed to truly believe it.

The three boys were happy with the result, smiling at each other and the two men were still a bit surprised by their actions, they didn’t see the man riding up towards them. Not any man, but Jon recognized him as Robett Glover; House Glover’s Lord.

“Boys, watch out!”

Jon was fast to run to them and knock the old man off of his horse before he even got to the Targaryen boys. The Glover’s Lord stood up on his feet at once and drew out his sword, pointing it towards Jon.

“You should have never been the King in the North. You were never worthy! You’re a traitor!”

Jon walked around him, Longclaw towards his way. “The North wouldn’t have stood a chance in the Great War if it weren’t for the Targaryens. I’m not the traitor one here.”

“You have Targaryen blood,” the man dared to spit towards him. “Their disgusting dragon blood. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Greatness or madness. But it’s always madness. That’s your blood. The blood of madness.”

Jon looked next to him to hear a scream of rage coming from behind him – Rhaegal ran past right him towards Lord Robett, Firestorm in hand. He cried out his name, but it was too late – Rhaegal had already hit the Lord’s sword with all he had. The man blocked his blows one by one, trying to dismiss the boy’s attacks, but Rhaegal’s speed was better than most and in the end, he managed to make a large and deep cut across the man’s face, getting him to stumble on his steps.

But that only angered him more.

Lord Glover started attacking Rhaegal with all he had, crashing his sword against his over and over again, until the boy could endure so much – the sixth time he blocked a hit, the man kicked him on the chest and made him fall on his back.

That was enough for Jon.

Before Robett could cut Rhaegal’s head open, Jon put his sword in the middle and between the Lord’s weakening hands and his strength, all he had to do was push against it to make it fly away.

“We, Targaryens, fought in the Great War, all of us… that’s much more than you can say. The _greatness_ in our blood saved you and your people. You should be thanking this boy on your knees… he killed the Night King. It’s because of him you’re alive,” Robett Glover glared at Rhaegal still sitting on the ground, probably glaring back at the man. He spat to him and it made Jon’s blood boil only more. His fingers gripped at Longclaw as he shook his head slightly, trying to contain the anger. “And it’s because of him you’re going to die now.”

Jon thrusted his weapon into Robett’s chest, too deep it went right through him. Blood started falling from the Lord’s mouth as his eyes looked up to Jon’s dark gaze, “Traitor,” he let out in a small whisper as Jon moved back to feel a sharp pain down on his stomach. “The blood of a traitor,” the man muttered once again and Jon didn’t have time to move away that there was another sharp and deeper pain.

Jon took Longclaw out of him and stepped back from him. Lord Robett fell on his knees and on his back, but Jon only looked down and placed his hand above the piercing pain that started to spread throughout his body.

“Jon?” Rhaegal’s voice sounded near. The boy appeared in front of him, his green eyes widening at the sight of the blood on his hand. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground; his legs started to weaken and the world around him kept spinning. “Jon, no! No, no!” He felt hands moving him around until he was facing Rhaegal, looking down at him in desperation, his hands pressing against his above the wounds. “No, no, we’ll get you out of here. I promise. We have to take him out of here! Jon…” his eyelids started to feel heavy… so heavy. He tried to concentrate on Rhaegal’s face; on the water filling up his green eyes, trying to find the good and strong boy he knew he was behind all the blood on his face. He wished he would smile at him, despite everything… despite the battle around them, despite the blood between them, despite the hurt and betrayal. He had his mother’s smile. “Jon, don’t close your eyes! You can’t die too! You’re not dying! Not you, too. No. You promised it to her,” Jon blinked, the dizziness was strong and pulling him in, but Rhaegal’s words were stronger. “You promised to her you’d look out for us. We’re in the middle of a battle. You can’t leave us alone, remember? Stay awake. Jon!” His eyes must have closed, for Rhaegal’s shaking hands moved him as much as he could to make him open his eyes again. When he did, he found thin tears clearing the blood from the brown haired boy’s face. “Stay awake! Please!”

Jon swallowed hard and fought the darkness and dizziness as much as he could and only gave a short nod of head to the boy. He felt his arms being taken, he glanced over to see Viserion putting one of his arms around his shoulders, the other one around Rhaegal’s, and Drogon in front of them, with Bloodspear on his right hand and Longclaw on his left one.

“Follow me,” Ser Davos told to Drogon, who only nodded his head to the old man. But the sound of a horn started to echo through the place and as they all looked forward, their breath was cut. “Well, shit.”

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion watched as much more men in horses appeared in the distance, behind Sansa’s white horse… with the Vale’s flag. The Knights of the Vale. They didn’t stay to defend the North if they were ready to attack it, they were Sansa’s surprise. They knew this was a possibility and they were ready for it; more Dothraki and more Unsullied that were inside King’s Landing would come out at the possible and sudden appearance of a new army… but what they didn’t have in their plans was to be so close to that upcoming army – they should be closer to King’s Landing’s gates and not nearing the field’s other end.

That sound was enough to fully bring Jon back; he opened his eyes to see what he’d seen not long ago, but now it didn’t mean relief… only desperation. He stood on both his feet on his own and snatched away from Rhaegal and Viserion, stepping forward as much as he could and taking Longclaw from Drogon’s hand.

The black haired King frowned at him. “Jon, you can’t –”

“You have to get out of here,” Jon managed to breathe out, spitting out the thick blood on his tongue. “The ship. You know where to find it. You three have to go.”

“No!” Rhaegal screamed and appeared at his right, shaking his head. “No. We won’t leave without you. We won’t leave our people behind.”

“You have to,” Jon swallowed and pressed his free hand harder onto his wounds. “We’ll be outnumbered soon. You have to leave.”

“No!” Viserion said this time, but as clear as his brother. “We knew this could happen! The other Dothraki and Unsullied will come out and fight them as well. We won’t be truly outnumbered. And if we go, you go with us. You’re in no state to stay here and fight.”

“We knew it was a possibility but we weren’t supposed to be this close!” He didn’t blame them, it was actually admirable the boys had reached this far without even being wounded, but he wished they would have let him know their plan in getting Sansa. Perhaps they thought they were going to get to her before she could pull out her backup. Perhaps he could have gotten them out of such idea. “I will only slow you down. Take a horse and leave.” He searched for Drogon’s red gaze, knowing he’d reason with him if it was about his brothers’ safety. “You have to leave now.”

Drogon frowned; the confliction was evident in his eyes. He looked back and forth between his brothers and him, and up forwards, towards the many horses marching down to them – if they didn’t get a horse and left, they were soon going to be killed. They were too many. The Dothraki and Unsullied probably coming out from the gates wouldn’t arrive there in time to help them. As good as the three of them were together; they weren’t going to survive once the Knights of the Vale reached them.

Jon’s free, and bloody, hand took hold of his arm and squeezed it, gaining his attention. “You said you would do it.”

The young King swallowed. “If one of us were hurt.”

Jon watched the mixed emotions in the boy’s eyes. Other were the circumstances, he would have been more than happy to know Drogon was hesitating in leaving him behind, but there was no time for that now. He trusted he’d put his brothers’ safety above all, but it was taking him too long to decide…

“You will be _killed_ in matter of seconds if you don’t go to the ship…” Drogon swallowed hard and looked back at his brothers. “Drogon!”

Drogon’s head snapped towards him as a deep, confused frown started to settle in between his dark eyebrows. He looked from him, to Ser Davos, to the Knights of the Vale coming up to them… to his brothers.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, you don’t say,” Ser Davos immediately answered him, sword already going up. “You have to choose now, Your Grace. There’s no more time to think.”

“What’s happening?” Viserion asked to Drogon this time, though Jon couldn’t understand what he was asking of him. “Why is _he_ coming, Drogon?”

Jon watched the same confused scowl forming on Viserion and Rhaegal’s faces, yet it was the brown-haired prince that walked closer to his older brother. “Drogon! What is going on?”

“I don’t know! I can’t fully get through him!”

“What…” Jon groaned against the pain starting to spread once again, but it seemed the adrenaline running through his veins was still enough to keep him conscious and up. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s Balerion,” Drogon answered, closing his eyes for a moment and opening them a second later, shaking his head. “Something’s wrong with him… I don’t know! He’s close but I can’t get through him. He shouldn’t be here!”

“Your dragon?” Ser Davos glanced over to him. “Good. We need him.”

“No! If I can’t control him, there’s no telling in what he can do! He might attack our people without even knowing. Dragons have riders for a reason!”

“Then control him!” Rhaegal yelled at him – Jon saw the fury inside him, but he’d come to learn that if one of the brothers were angry, it was most likely for the other two to have that emotion as well. “He’s your dragon. You have to control him!”

“I can’t!” Drogon screamed right back at him. “I can’t fully reach him… something is blocking me from him, like…”

“You have to concentrate,” Viserion walked closer to his brother. “You are his rider, Drogon. You have a connection with him. Use it!”

“There’s something wrong with the connection!” Drogon screamed at them, closing his eyes as hard as he could, as if that would be of any use. “There’s… something… _someone_. Someone else is controlling him.”

“What?!” Viserion shook his head. “That’s not possible. No one can control your dragon – he can follow my orders and he can do as Rhaegal says if he pleases, because he’s our dragon brother, but he is _your_ dragon now. That cannot be possible.”

Jon swallowed, his patience running too thick, and much more with the upcoming soldiers that were coming to their way with each passing minute. “You have to think, the three of you! Who else can control him besides you?”

Some realization seemed to hit Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion at the same time, for the looks they exchanged of shock weren’t usual. Drogon opened his mouth to answer him, but instead Balerion’s roar sounded in the distance. They all turned around, towards King’s Landing’s gates, to watch him flying down from the sky as his roar grew louder and fiercer.

“Mother.”

Jon turned his head to hear the whisper coming from the three Targaryen boys.

No. It couldn’t be.

Jon looked back again, to Balerion flying lower and closer to the battle happening under him, even though some of them stopped their fighting in fright or awe of the black beast.

Long gone was the pain from the wounds. Jon narrowed his eyes towards the sky, not truly believing what he’d just heard from the boys next to him… but as Balerion flew right past them, he saw it.

The familiar, silver braid.

The petite form on top of the large, black dragon.

 “Dracarys!”

It only took a second for Balerion to loose fire on all the Knights of the Vale coming closer to them. It must have given courage to the Dothraki and the Unsullied, for they all started charging forward towards the fire, even breaking through it to get to the men on their horses and more Dothraki and Unsullied, the ones that had just left the gates, started taking over.

Balerion flew away and turned to the side to form a circle of fire around Sansa and her guards; Jon’s breath was cut off to have clear sight of _her_. It was truly her; in a dress with her Targaryen colors, black and red, with her long, silver braid hanging on her back.

He grimaced at the pain on his stomach and pressed harder against it with his hand, trying to ignore it.

They all watched as Balerion flew lower and closer to them, until all the remaining fighting men around them ran away to see the dragon ready to land on them. The ground shook under them when the black beast touched it – his loud and strong roar keeping the shaking and even making them stumble a bit.

Jon’s lips parted but no air came in or out from them to see something he thought he would never see again; Daenerys sliding down from Balerion. He had to close his lips on purpose and purse them tight, to try to keep the water gathering inside his eyes in.

She was alive.

She was back.

Jon didn’t blink. He didn’t even dare to move, but he saw as Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion did. They walked forward, taking slow and careful steps, as if they were stepping on ice. Daenerys took a few steps towards them, but that was enough for Jon to see her face.

Her pale complexion. Her gentle, purple eyes that were now shinning with tears. Her full lips moving slightly up in a small, tiny smile, as if she was scared to even do that.

The three Targaryen boys stopped walking of all the sudden, and so did Daenerys, halfway. Jon couldn’t see them, but he could imagine the big, fat tears rolling down their bloody faces. It was only then that he realized the three of them still had their swords on their hands.

Daenerys must have realized it too, for her eyes traveled down to their hands.

The swords dropped… the sound against the ground being the only thing Jon could hear right before their loud, “Mama!”

Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion ran up to their mother and crashed her with their bodies. Her arms weren’t long enough to wrap around her boys; they were a bit taller than her now. But they held on to each other as much as they could; Jon took a step towards them without even thinking. It was an intimate moment for them but he couldn’t take his eyes away, even if they let out their own tears.

Rhaegal and Viserion were at her sides, their faces hiding in each side of their mother’s neck… the big tears cleaning any dirty on their face. Drogon’s back was all he could see of the boy, but he had a glimpse of his forehead against his mother’s.

“You’re alive.”

“You’re here, mama.”

“You came back to us.”

“We’re so sorry,” Rhaegal said between all the sobs. “Mama, we’re so sorry…”

Jon watched as Daenerys moved away from them, opening her mouth to say something to them, but her purple eyes locked with his dark ones… and the words died in her tongue. There was no longer the happiness, excitement, love and joy that it’d been there seconds ago, for her boys. Her gentle purple eyes, oh how he missed to look at these purple eyes, grew with anger, and coldness, and pain – so much pain. It brought new tears to her already rimmed red eyes, but nothing of the like that she had before.

Jon tried taking a step forward, but his legs betrayed him and he fell to his knees. The adrenaline was gone, only the burning pain stayed.

Ser Davos was next to him in a second, but he watched through his heavy eyelids as the Targaryen boys looked back at him – Rhaegal ran towards him and knelt next to him, the smile had yet to disappear from his lips and the joy started mixing with desperation in his watery green eyes.

“Jon. Stay awake. She’s here. She’s back. You can’t go now!”

Drogon, Viserion and Daenerys appeared in his sight. He tried to move his head up to look at her better, see the way she held on to each of her son’s hands as she looked down at him with… sadness? Pity? He couldn’t figure it out – the pain in his stomach was too much now.

“They… they’re safe,” he breathed out, eyes never leaving hers. But they were too heavy to keep them open; he couldn’t fight the dizziness and darkness anymore, no matter how much Rhaegal told him to stay awake, no matter how much he wanted her face to stay in his sight. “They are safe.”

The boys were safe. Daenerys was back.

Jon’s head fell to the side, letting the darkness consume him as he thought he heard her voice in the distance;

“They are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And that final scene with our Queen coming back it’s the one that gave birth to this fic in my head. Now it’s truly on. I hope to hear your thoughts!_
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

>   _Next chapter will show mostly how it ended up in this mess._


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